RED-ROBIN 


JANE  D.ABBQTT 


II 

Wi^> 


<r 


OF 


RED-ROBIN 


RED-ROBIN 


BY 

JANE  ABBOTT 


AUTHOR  OF 

KEINETH,  HIGHACRES, 
APRILLY,  ETC. 


7977 


GROSSET    &    DUNLAP 

PUBLISHERS  NEW    YORK 

M»cW  in  tix  United  State*  of  America 


COPWCHT,   1932,   BY  J.  B.  UPPINCOTT  COMPANY 


TO  BETSY 


2125527 


CONTENTS 

CSAPTBK 

PROLOGUE — A  STORY  BEFORE  THE  STORY u 

I.  THE  ORPHAN  DOLLJ 19 

IL  A  PRINCE a8 

III.  THE  HOUSE  OF  FORSYTE  39 

IV.  RED-ROBIN  ' 49 

V.  JIMMIE  : 61 

VI.  THE  FORSYTE  HEIR 70 

VII.  BERYL 79 

VIII.  ROBIN  ASSERTS  HERSELF,''.  , 90 

IX.  THE  LYNCHS  103 

'X.  THE  LADY  OF  THE  RUSHING  WATERS 114 

XI.  POT  ROAST  AND  CABBAGE  SALAD 126 

XII.  ROBIN  WRITES  A  LETTER 138 

XIII.  SUSY  CASTLE 151 

XIV.  A  GIFT  TO  THE  QUEEN 164 

XV.  THE  PARTY  176 

XVI.  CHRISTMAS  AT  THE  MANOR  190 

XVII.  THE  HOUSE  OP  LAUGHTER 204 

XVIII.  TEE  LUCKLESS  STOCKING 220 

XIX.  GRANNY 235 

XX.  ROBIN'S  BEGINNING 250 

XXI.  AT  THE  GRANGER  MILLS . . , . .  266 

XXII.  THE  GREEN  BEADS  279 

XXIII.  ROBIN'S  RESCUE 292 

XXIV.  MADAME  FORSYTE  COMES  HOME  305 

EPILOGUE— A  STORY  AFTER  THE  STORY 318 


RED -ROBIN 

PROLOGUE 

A  STORY  BEFORE  THE  STORY 

ON  a  green  hillside  a  girl  lay  prone  in  the  sweet 
grass,  very  still  that  she  might  not,  by  the  slightest 
quiver,  disturb  the  beauty  that  was  about  her.  There 
was  so  very,  very  much  beauty — the  sky,  azure  blue 
overhead  and  paling  where  it  touched  the  green- 
fringed  earth;  the  whispering  tree  under  which  she 
lay,  the  lush  meadow  grass,  moving  like  waves  of  a 
sea,  the  bird  nesting  above  her,  everything — 

And  Moira  O'Donnell,  who  had  never  been  far- 
ther than  the  boundaries  of  her  county,  knew  the 
whole  world  was  beautiful,  too. 

Behind  her,  hid  in  a  hollow,  stood  the  small 
cottage  where,  at  that  very  moment,  her  grandmother 
was  preparing  the  evening  meal.  And,  beyond,  in 
the  village  was  the  little  old  stone  church  and  Father 
Murphy's  square  bit  of  a  house  with  its  wide  door- 
step and  its  roof  of  thatch,  and  Widow  Mulligan's 
and  the  Denny's  and  the  Finnegan's  and  all 
the  others. 

Moira  loved  them  all  and  loved  the  hospitable 
homes  where  there  was  always,  in  spite  of  poverty, 

a  bounty  of  good  feeling. 

ii 


12  RED-ROBIN 

And  before  her,  just  beyond  that  last  steep  rise, 
was  the  sea.  She  could  hear  its  roar  now,  like  a  deep 
voice  drowning  the  clearer  pipe  of  the  winging 
birds  and  the  shrill  of  the  little  grass  creatures. 
Often  she  went  down  to  its  edge,  but  at  this  hour 
she  liked  best  to  lie  in  the  grass  and  dream  her  dreams 
to  its  lifting  music. 

Her  dream  always  began  with:  "Oh,  Moira 
O'Donnell,  it's  all  yours !  It's  all  yours !"  Which, 
of  course,  sounded  like  boasting,  or  a  miser  gloating 
over  his  gold,  and  might  have  seemed  very  funny  to 
anyone  so  stupid  as  to  see  only  the  girl's  shabby 
dress  and  her  bare  feet,  gleaming  like  white  satin 
against  the  green  of  the  grass.  But  no  fine  lady  in 
that  land  felt  richer  than  Moira  when  she  began 
her  dreaming. 

Of  late,  her  dreams  were  taking  on  new  shapes, 
as  though,  with  her  growth,  they  reached  out,  too. 
And  today,  as  she  lay  very  still  in  the  grass,  some- 
thing big,  that  was  within  her  and  yet  had  no  sub- 
stance, lifted  and  sung  up  to  the  blue  arch  of  the 
sky  and  on  to  the  sun  and  away  westward  with  it, 
away  like  a  bird  in  far  flight 

Beyond  that  golden  horizon  of  heaving  sea  was 
everything  one  could  possibly  want ;  Moira  had  heard 
that  when  she  was  a  tiny  girl.  America,  the  States, 
they  were  words  that  opened  fairy  doors. 

Father  Murphy  had  told  her  much  about  that 
world  beyond  the  sea.  He  had  visited  it  once;  had 


A  STORY  BEFORE  THE  STORY   13 

spent  six  weeks  with  his  sister  who  had  married  and 
settled  on  a  farm  in  the  state  of  Ohio.  His  sister's 
husband  had  all  sorts  of  new-fangled  machinery  for 
plowing  and  seeding,  and  for  his  reaping!  And 
Father  Murphy  had  told  her  of  the  free  library  that 
was  in  the  town  near  his  sister's  home,  where  he 
could  sit  all  day  and  read  to  his  heart's  content. 

Father  Murphy  (he  had  spent  three  whole  days 
in  New  York)  had  made  her  see  the  great  buildings 
that  were  like  granite  giants  towering  over  and  wall- 
ing in  the  pigmy  humanity  that  beat  against  their 
sides  like  the  rise  and  fall  of  the  tide ;  he  told  her  of 
the  rush  and  roar  of  the  streets  and  of  the  trains  that 
tore  over  one's  head 

And  he  told  her  of  the  loveliness  that  was  there 
in  picture  and  music.  Moira,  listening,  quivering 
with  the  longing  to  be  fine  and  to  do  fine  things, 
could  always  see  it  all  just  as  though  magic  hands 
swept  aside  those  miles  of  ocean  dividing  that  land 
of  marvel  from  her  Ireland. 

That  was  why  it  was  so  simple  to  let  her  dream- 
mind  climb  up  and  away  westward.  Her  eyes,  star- 
ing into  the  paling  blue,  saw  beautiful  things  and 
her  thoughts  revelled  in  delicious  fancies. 

That  slender,  gold  crowned  bit  of  a  cloud — that 
•was  Destiny  circling  her  globe,  weaving,  and  mould- 
ing, and  shaping;  Moira  O'Donnell's  own  humble 
thread  was  on  her  loom!  And  Destiny's  face  was 
turned  westward.  Moira  saw  shining  towers  and 


I4  RED-ROBIN 

thronged  streets  and  fields  greener  than  her  own. 
Far-off  music  sounded  in  her  ears  as  though  the 
world  off  there  just  sang  with  gladness.  And  it  was 
waiting  for  her — her.  She  saw  herself  moving  for- 
ward to  it  all  with  quick  step  and  head  high,  going  to 
a  beautiful  goal.  Sometimes  that  goal  was  a  palace- 
place,  encircled  by  brilliant  flowers,  sometimes  a  farm 
like  Father  Murphy's  sister's  and  a  husband  who 
worked  with  marvelous  contrivances,  sometimes  a 
free  library  with  all  the  books  one  could  want,  some- 
times a  dim,  vaulted  space  through  which  echoed 
exquisite  music — 

She  so  loved  that  make-believe  Moira,  moving 
forward  toward  glowing  things,  that  she  cried  aloud : 
"That's  me!  Me!"  And  of  course  her  voice  broke 
the  spell — the  dream  vanished;  there  was  nothing 
left  but  the  fleecy  cloud,  the  meadow  lark's  song, 
close  by. 

There  was  just  time  enough  before  her  grand- 
mother needed  her,  to  run  down  to  Father  Murphy's. 
She  knew  at  this  hour  she  would  find  him  by  his  wide 
door-step.  Fleetly,  her  bare  feet  scarcely  touching 
the  soft  earth,  she  covered  the  distance  to  his  house. 
She  ran  up  behind  him  and  slipped  her  fingers  over 
his  half -closed  eyes. 

He  knew  the  familiar  touch  of  the  girl's  hands. 
He  patted  them  with  his  own  and  moved  aside  offi 
his  bench  that  she  might  sit  down  with  him. 

"Father,"  she  said,  very  low,  her  eyes  shining. 
"It's  my  dream  again." 


A  STORY  BEFORE  THE  STORY   15 

The  old  priest  did  not  chide  her  for  idling,  as  her 
grandmother  would  have  done.  The  old  priest 
dreamed,  too. 

"Tell  me,"  she  went  on.  "Can  one  go  to  school 
over  there  as  long  as  one  likes  ?  Is  it  too  grown-up 
I  am  to  learn  more  things  from  books?" 

The  old  Father  told  her  one  could  never  be  too 
old  to  learn  from  books.  He  loved  her  craving  for 
knowledge.  Had  he  not  taught  her  himself,  since 
she  was  twelve  ?  He  looked  at  her  proudly. 

"Father!"  She  whispered  now,  and  the  rose 
flush  deepened  in  her  face.  "It's  Danny  Lynch  that 
comes  every  evening  to  see  me." 

Now  Father  Murphy  turned  squarely  and  re- 
garded her  with  startled  eyes.  This  slip  of  a  girl 
was  the  most  precious  colleen  in  his  flock. 

"And,  Father,  it's  of  America  he  talks  all 
the  time!" 

The  old  priest  shivered  as  though  from  a  chill. 
Sensing  his  feeling,  Moira  caught  his  hand  quickly 
and  held  it  in  a  close  grip. 

"But  if  I  go  away  it's  not  forgetting  you  I'll  be! 
Oh,  who  in  all  this  world  has  been  a  better  friend 
to  Moira  O'Donnell?  Who  has  taught  Moira 
but  you?" 

"Child—" 

"Sure  it's  grown-up  I  am!  See!"  She  sprang 
to  her  feet  and  stood  slimly  erect.  "See?" 

He  nodded  slowly.  "Yes.  And  your  old  priest 
had  not  noticed.  Moira — "  he  caught  her  arm, 


16  RED-ROBIN 

leaned  forward  and  peered  into  her  face  as  though  tfc 
see  through  it  into  her  soul.  "Moira,  girl,  is  it 
courage  I  have  taught  ye?  And  honor?  And  faith?" 
Her  heart  was  singing  now  over  the  secret  she 
had  shared  with  him.  Who  would  not  have  courage 
and  faith  when  one  was  so  happy?  With  a  lift 
of  her  shoulders,  a  tilt  of  her  head,  she  shrugged 
away  his  seriousness. 

"If  you  could  only  see  me,  Father,  as  I  a/n  in 
my  dream.  Oh,  it's  beautiful  I  am!  And  smart? 
And  rich!" 

"Not  money,"  broke  in  the  priest  with  a  ring 
of  contempt. 

"Sure,  no,  not  money!  But  fine  things.  Oh, 
Father,"  she  clasped  her  hands  childishly.  "It's  fine 
things  I  want.  The  very  finest  in  the  world !  And 
I  want  my  Danny  to  want  them,  too." 

"Fine  things,"  he  repeated  slowly.  "And  will 
ye  know  the  fine  things  from  the  dross,  child  ?  That 
wealth  is  more  times  what  ye  give,  aye,  than  what  ye 
get?  It's  rich  ye  are  of  your  fine  things  if  the  heart 
of  you  is  unselfish — " 

"What  talk,  you,  Father;  it's  like  the  croaking 
frogs  in  the  Widow  Finnegan's  pond  you  are !  But, 
sh-h-h,  I  will  tell  you  what  I  saw,  as  real  as  real,  as 
I  lay  dreaming — Destiny  herself,  as  fine  as  you 
please,  sailing  to  the  new  world,  a-spinning  on  her 
loom.  She  had  Moira  O'Donnell's  poor  thread  and 
who  knows,  Father  Murphy,  but  maybe  this  minute 


A  STORY  BEFORE  THE  STORY   17 

it's  a-spinning  it  with  a  thread  of  gold  she  is!" 
The  girl's  eyes  danced.  "Ah,  'tis  nonsense  I  talk, 
for  it's  a  dream  it  was,  but  my  poor  heart's  so  light 
it  hurts. — here." 

The  old  man  laid  a  trembling  hand  upon  her  head. 
Under  his  touch  it  bowed  with  quick  reverence  but 
not  before  she  had  seen  a  mistiness  in  the  kindly  eyes. 

"It's  God's  blessing  I  ask  for  ye — and  yes,  may 
your  dream  come  true — " 

"Your  blessing  for  Danny,  too,"  whispered 
Moira. 

"For  the  both  of  ye!" 

"Sure  it's  a  crossing  Granny'll  be  a-giving  me 
and  no  blessing,"  laughed  the  girl.  It  was  her  own 
word  for  Granny's  sharp  tongue.  "I'd  best  be  off, 
Father  dear." 

"Wait."  The  old  man  disappeared  through  his 
door.  Presently  he  came  out  carrying  a  small  box. 
From  this  he  took  a  crumpled  package.  Unwrapping 
the  tissue  folds  he  revealed,  in  the  cup  of  his  hand, 
a  string  of  green  beads. 

"Oh!  Oh!  How  beautiful!"  cried  the  girl.  "Are 
they  for  me?"  with  the  youthful  certainty  that  all 
lovely  things  were  her  due. 

"Yes.     To    remember    my    blessing."     He    re- 
garded them  fondly,  lifted  them  that  she  might  see 
their  beauty  against  the  sun's  glow.      ( 'Twas  in  a 
little  shop  in  London  I  found  the  pretty  things." 
Moira  knew  how  much  he  must  love  them  as  a 

3 


1 8  RED-ROBIN 

keepsake — that  visit  to  London  was  only  next  in 
his  heart  to  the  trip  to  America.  She  caught  his 
hands,  beads,  tissue  wrappings  and  all. 

"Oh,  it's  precious  they  are !     And  you  too !" 

The  Father  fastened  them  over  the  girl's  shabby 
dress.  "They  are  only  beads,"  he  admonished. 
"But  it's  of  this  day  they'll  remind  you." 

He  watched  Moira  as  she  ran  off  down  the  lane. 
He  noted  the  quick,  sure  tread  of  her  feet,  the  chal- 
lenging poise  of  her  head.  "Colleen — "  he  whis- 
pered with  a  smile.  "Little  colleen."  He  turned  to 
his  door  and  his  lips,  even  though  they  still  twisted 
in  a  smile,  moved  as  though  in  prayer. 

"And  may  God  keep  pure  the  dream  in  the  heart 
ofycl" 


CHAPTER  I 

THE  ORPHAN   DOLL 

NOVEMBER — and  a  chill  wind  scurrying,  snap- 
ping, biting,  driving  before  it  fantastic  scraps  of 
paper,  crackly  leaves,  a  hail  of  fine  cinders.  An  early 
twilight,  gray  like  a  mist,  enveloped  the  city  in  gloom. 
Through  it  lights  gleamed  bravely  from  the  grimy 
windows  rising  higher  and  higher  to  the  low-hanging 
clouds,  each  thin  shaft  beckoning  and  telling  of  shel- 
ter and  a  warmth  that  was  home. 

High  over  the  heads  of  the  hurrying  humanity 
in  a  street  of  tenements  Moira  Lynch  lighted  her 
lamp  and  set  it  close  to  the  bare  window.  With 
her  it  was  a  ceremony.  She  sang  as  she  performed 
the  little  act.  Without  were  the  shadows  of  the 
approaching  night — gloom,  storm,  disaster,  perhaps 
even  the  evil  fairies ;  her  lamp  would  scatter  them  all 
with  its  glow,  just  as  her  song  drove  the  worries  from 
her  heart. 

Her  lamp  lighted,  she  paused  for  a  moment,  her 
head  forward,  listening.  Then  at  the  sound  of  a 
light  step  she  sprang  to  the  door  and  threw  it  open. 
A  wee  slip  of  a  girl,  almost  one  with  the  shadows 
of  the  dingy  hallway,  ran  into  her  arms. 

"And  it's  so  late  you  are,  dearie !  And  so  dark 
it's  grown — and  cold.  Your  poor  little  hands  are 


20  RED-ROBIN 

blue.  Why,  what  have  you  here,  hidin*  under  your 
shawl?  Beryl  Lynch!  Dear  love  us — a  doll!" 
With  a  laugh  that  was  like  a  tinkling  of  low  pitched 
bells  the  little  mother  drew  the  treasure  from  its 
hiding  place.  But  as  her  eyes  swept  the  silken 
splendor  of  the  raiment  her  merriment  changed  to 
wonder  and  then  to  fear. 

"You  didn't — you  didn't — oh,  Beryl  Lynch, 
you—" 

"Steal  it?     No.     Give  me  it.     I— found  it." 

But  the  terror  still  darkened  the  mother's  eyes. 

"And  where  did  you  find  it?" 

"On  the  bench.  She  left  it.  She  forgot  it. 
Ain't  it  mine  now?"  pleadingly.  "I  waited,  honest, 
but  she  didn't  come  back." 

Mrs.  Lynch  was  examining  the  small  wonder 
with  timid  fingers,  lifting  fold  after  fold  of  shining 
satin  and  dainty  muslin. 

"Who  was  she?"  she  asked. 

"A  kid."  Little  Beryl  kindled  to  the  interest  of 
her  story.  Had  not  something  very  thrilling  hap- 
pened in  her  simple  life — a  life  the  greatest  interest 
of  which  was  to  carry  to  the  store  each  day  the  small 
bundle  of  crocheted  lace  which  her  mother  made. 
"She  was  a  swell  kid.  She  played  in  the  park,  waitin' 
for  a  big  man." 

"Did  she  talk  to  you?"  breathlessly. 

Beryl  avoided  this  question.  The  beautiful  little 
girl  had  not  spoken  to  her,  though  she  had  hung  by 


THE  ORPHAN  DOLL  21 

very  close,  inviting  an  approach  with  hungry  eyes. 

"She  was  just  a  little  kid,"  loftily.  Then,  "Ain't 
the  doll  mine?" 

Mrs.  Lynch  patted  down  the  outermost  garment. 
"Yes,  it's  yours  it  is,  darlin'.  At  least — "  she  hesi- 
tated over  a  fleeting  sense  of  justice,  "maybe  the  little 
stranger  will  be  a-coming  back  for  her  doll.  It's  a 
fair  bit  of  dolly  and  it's  lonesome  and  weeping  the 
little  mother  may  be  this  very  minute- — " 

Beryl  reached  out  eager  arms. 

"It's  an  orphan  doll.  I'll  love  it  hard.  Give  me 
it.  Oh,"  with  a  breath  that  was  like  a  whistle. 
"Ain't  she  lovely?  Mom,  is  she  too  lovely  for  us?" 

The  timid  question  brought  a  quick  change  in 
the  mother's  face,  a  kindling  of  a  fire  within  the 
mother  breast.  She  straightened  her  slender  body. 

"And  if  there's  anything  too  good  for  my  girlie 
I'd  like  to  see  it !  Isn't  this  the  land  where  all  men 
are  equal  and  my  girl  and  boy  shall  have  a  school 
as  good  as  the  best  and  grow  up  to  be  maybe  the 
President  himself?"  She  repeated  the  words  softly 
as  though  they  made  a  creed,  learned  carefully  and 
with  supreme  faith.  Why  had  she  come,  indeed,  to 
this  crowded,  noisy  city  from  her  fair  home  meadows 
if  not  for  this  promise  it  held  out  to  her? 

"And  isn't  your  brother  the  head  of  his  class?" 
she  finished  triumphantly.  "And  it's  smarter  than 
ever  you'll  be  yourself  with  your  little  books.  Oh, 


22  RED-ROBIN 

childy !"     She  caught  the  little  girl,  doll  and  all,  into 
an  impulsive  embrace. 

From  it  Beryl  wriggled  to  a  practical  curiosity 
as  to  supper.  She  sniffed.  Her  mother  nodded. 

"Stew!  And  with  dumplin's — "  She  made  it 
sound  like  fairy  food.  "Ready  to  the  beating  when 
your  father  comes." 

"Where's  Dale?     And  Pop?" 

"It's  Dale's  night  at  the  store.  And  Pop'll  be 
comin'  along  any  minute.  I've  set  the  lamp  for  him." 

"I'm  hungry,"  Beryl  complained.  She  sat  down 
cross-legged  on  the  spotless  scrap  of  carpeting  and 
proceeded  with  infinite  tenderness  to  disrobe  the  doll. 

"Do  you  think  she  will  like  it  here?"  she  asked 
suddenly,  looking  about  the  humble  room  which  for 
the  Lynch's,  served  as  parlor,  dining-room  and 
kitchen.  Now  its  bareness  lay  wrapped  in  a  kindly 
shadow  through  which  glinted  diamond  sparks  from 
much-scrubbed  tin.  "It's  nice — "  Beryl  meditated. 
She  loved  this  hour,  she  loved  the  singing  tea-kettle 
and  the  smell  of  strong  soap  and  her  mother's  face 
in  the  lamplight,  with  all  the  loud  noises  of  the  street 
hushed,  and  the  ugliness  outside  hidden  by  the  closed 
door,  against  the  paintless  boards  of  which  had  been 
nailed  a  flaming  poster  inviting  the  nation's  youth 
to  join  the  Navy. 

"But  maybe  this  home'll  be — too  different," 
she  finished. 


THE  ORPHAN  DOLL  23 

The  mother's  eyes  grew  moist  with  a  quick  ten- 
derness. Her  Beryl,  with  this  wonder  of  a  dolly 
in  her  arms !  Her  mind  flashed  over  the  last  Christ- 
mas and  the  one  before  that  when  Beryl  had  asked 
Santa  Claus  for  a  "real  doll"  and  had  cried  on 
Christmas  morning  because  the  cheap  little  bit  of 
dolldom  which  the  mother  had  bought  out  of  her 
meagre  savings  would  not  open  or  shut  its  eyes.  And 
now — the  impudent  heart  of  the  blessed  child  worry- 
ing that  the  home  wasn't  good  enough  for  the  likes 
of  the  doll! 

"It's  a  good  home  for  her  where  it's  loving  you 
are  to  her.  It's  the  heart  and  not  the  gold  that 
counts.  And  who  knows — maybe  it's  a  bit  of  luck 
the  dolly'll  be  a-bringing." 

As  though  a  word  of  familiar  portent  had  been 
uttered  Beryl  lifted  a  face  upon  which  was  reflected 
the  glow  of  the  little  mother's.  Babe  as  she  was, 
she  knew  something  of  the  mother's  faith  in  the  fickle 
god  of  chance,  a  faith  that  helped  the  little  woman 
over  the  rough  places,  that  never  failed  to  brighten 
her  deepest  gloom.  Did  she  not  staunchly  believe 
that  someday  by  a  turn  of  good  fortune  she  and  her 
Danny  would  know  the  America  and  the  good  things 
of  which  they  had  dreamed,  sitting  in  the  gloaming 
of  their  Ireland,  their  lover's  hands  close  clasped? 
But  for  that  hope  why  would  they  have  left  their 
dear  hillsides  with  the  homely  life  and  the  kindly 
neighbors  and  good  Father  Murphy  who  had  taught 


24  RED-ROBIN 

her  from  his  own  dog-eared  books  because  she  was 
eager  and  quick  to  learn?  Through  the  fourteen 
years  since  they  had  come  to  America  those  girl-and- 
boy  dreams  had  gone  sadly  astray,  but  the  little  wife 
still  clung  to  the  faith  that  they'd  have  the  good  things 
sometime,  her  Danny  would  get  a  better  job  and  if 
he  didn't  there  was  young  Dale,  always  at  the  head  of 
his  class  in  school  and  even  the  baby  Beryl,  as  quick 
as  anything  to  pick  out  words  from  her  little  books. 

"A  good  luck  dolly!"  Beryl  held  the  doll  close. 
Her  eyes  grew  round  and  excited.  "Then  I  can  ride 
all  day  on  a  'bus  and  go  to  the  Zoo,  can't  I?  And 
can  I  have  a  new  coat  with  fur  ?  And  go  to  Coney  ? 
And  shoot  the  shoots  ?  And  can  Dale  ride  a  horse  ? 
And  can  Dale  and  me  go  across  the  river  where  it's 
like — that?"  nodding  to  the  poster. 

Mrs.  Lynch  rocked  furiously  in  her  joy  at  Beryl's 
anticipations.  The  floor  creaked  and  the  kettle  sang 
louder  than  before. 

"That  you  can.  And  it'll  be  a  fine  strong,  brave 
girl  you'll  be,  going  to  school  and  learning  more  than 
even  poor  old  Father  Murphy  knew,  God  love  him. 
And  by  and  by — " 

But  a  heavy  toiling  of  steps  up  the  stairs  checked 
her  words.  That  slow  tread  was  not  her  big  Danny 
nor  the  young  Dale !  At  a  knock  she  flew  to  the  door. 

"Oh,  and  if  it  isn't  Mister  Torrence."  She 
caught  the  old  man  who  stood  on  the  threshold  and 
laughingly  pulled  him  into  the  room.  "It  was  afraid 


THE  ORPHAN  DOLL  25 

I  was  that  it  was  bad  news!  Danny  Lynch  isn't 
home  yet  but  you  shall  stay  and  eat  dumplin's  with 
us — the  best  outside  of  our  Ireland — " 

"No!  No!"  protested  the  old  man,  regretfully. 
"My  old  woman's  waitin' !  Bad  news !  It's  good 
news  I  bring.  Dan's  had  a  raise.  He's  foreman 
of  the  gang  now.  And  I  stepped  'round  to  tell  ye 
the  good  news  and  that  Dan'll  be  a-workin'  tonight 
with  an  extry  shift  and'll  not  be  comin'  home  to 
dinner,  worse  luck  for  him!"  sniffing  appreciatively 
at  the  pleasant  odor  from  the  stove. 

"A  raise?  My  Dan  a  foreman?"  Moira 
Lynch  caught  her  hands  together.  "It's  the  good 
luck!  And  it's  deservin'  of  it  he  is  for  no  man  on 
the  docks  works  harder  than  my  big  Dan."  Her 
eyes  shone  like  two  stars. 

"Well,  ye'll  want  to  be  a-eatin'  the  dumplin's  so 
I'll  go  along.  Good-night,  Mrs.  Lynch." 

"God  love  you,  Mister  Torrence,"  whispered 
Moira,  too  overcome  to  manage  her  voice. 

Closing  the  door  behind  her  unexpected  visitor 
she  turned  and  caught  the  wondering  Beryl  into 
her  arms. 

"And  I  was  a-thinking  it  would  never  come! 
It's  ashamed  I  should  be  to  have  doubted.  My 
big  Dan!" 

"Is  it  the  dolly  that's  brought  us  the  good-luck, 
Mom?"  interrupted  Beryl,  round-eyed. 

"A  foreman !"  cried  the  mother  in  the  very  tone 


26  RED-ROBIN 

she  would  have  used  if  she  had  said  "a  king." 
She  danced  about  until  the  floor  creaked  threaten- 
ingly. "Our  good  fortune  is  coming,  my  precious. 
And  it's  fine  and  beautiful  my  girl  shall  be  with  a 
dress  as  good  as  the  next  one.  Wait!  Wait!" 
She  flew  into  the  tiny  bedroom,  returning  in  a  mo- 
ment with  a  small  box  in  her  hands.  From  it  she 
lifted  a  string  of  round  green  beads  and  held  them 
laughingly  before  Beryl's  staring  eyes. 

"My  beads!  You  shall  wear  them  this  night. 
It's  the  good  old  Father's  blessing."  She  clasped 
them  about  Beryl's  neck,  fingering  them  tenderly. 

"Pretty  beads.  Pretty  beads,"  cried  the  little 
girl. 

Suddenly  quieted  by  a  rush  of  memories  Mrs. 
Lynch  sat  down  and  took  Beryl  upon  her  lap.  "Beryl 
darlin',  was  the  likes  of  that  other  little  girl — the 
one  who  forgot  the  dolly — fine  and  beautiful?" 

"Oh,  yes!"  The  child's  voice  carried  a  note 
of  wonder. 

"And  you  shall  be  fine  and  beautiful,  too,  Moira 
Lynch's  own  girl,  just  as  I  used  to  dream  for  my 
own  self,  the  selfish  likes  o'  me.  You  shall  go  to 
school  and  learn  from  good  books.  Didn't  the  old 
Father  tell  me  of  the  fine  schools  he  had  seen  when  he 
visited  his  sister  in  America?  And  anybody  can, 
go — anybody !" 

Little  Beryl  felt  that  it  was  a  solemn  moment. 
She  lifted  serious  eyes.  "I  promise,"  she  drawled, 


THE  ORPHAN  DOLL  27 

with  a  gravity  out  of  all  proportion  to  her  six  years, 
"I  promise  to  go  to  school  and  learn  lots  like  Dale 
and  be  fine  and  boo'ful  so's  my  'dopted  dolly  will 
like  me  as  well  as — that  other  kid.  I've  gotta  be 
good  'nough  for  her.  So  there." 

The  child  could  not  comprehend  the  obstacles 
which  might  threaten  such  a  standard;  she  stared 
bravely  into  the  unblinking  eyes  of  the  doll  who 
smiled  back  her  graven  smile. 

Then :  "I'm  hungry,"  she  declared,  suddenly  de- 
ciding that  dumplings  were  more  important  than 
anything  else.  "And  can  my  Dolly  sit  in  Pop's  seat?" 

"That  she  can,"  cried  the  mother,  going  to  her 
"mixin'."  "And  what  a  gay  supper  it  will  be — 
with  the  new  dolly  and  the  pretty  beads  and  the 
dumplin's.  Oh,  Himself  a  foreman!" 


CHAPTER  II 

A  PRINCE 

PROMPTLY  at  nine  o'clock,  young  Dale  Lynch 
turned  the  key  in  the  door  of  "Tony  Sebastino, 
Groceries"  and  started,  whistling,  homeward.  Three 
times  a  week,  from  the  close  of  school  until  nine 
o'clock,  he  worked  in  the  store,  snatching  a  dinner 
of  bananas,  or  bread  and  cheese,  between  customers. 
Because  "Mom"  had  whispered  that  there  were  to  be 
"dumplin's"  this  night  and  that  she  would  keep  some 
warm  for  him,  and  because  the  wind  whipped  chill- 
ingly through  his  thin  clothing,  he  broke  into  a  run. 

His  homeward  way  led  him  past  a  bit  of  open 
triangle  which  in  the  neighborhood  was  dignified  by. 
the  name  of  park,  a  dreary  place  now,  dirty  straw 
stacked  about  the  fountain,  dry  leaves  and  papers 
cluttering  the  brown  earth  and  whipping  against  the 
iron  palings  of  the  fence.  Dale,  still  whistling, 
turned  its  corner  and  ran,  full-tilt,  upon  a  bit  of 
humanity  clinging,  like  the  paper  and  leaves,  to 
the  fence. 

"Giminy  Gee!"       Dale  jumped  back  in  alarm. 

Then:     "Did  I  scare  you,  kid ?     Oh,  say,  what's  the 

matter?"     For  the  face  that  turned  to  his  was  red 

and  swollen  with  weeping.     "Y'lost?"     This  was 

28 


A  PRINCE  29 

Dale's  natural  conclusion,  for  the  hour  was  late,  and 
the  child  a  very  small  one. 

"I   lost — my  Cynthia." 

"Your— what?" 

"My — my  Cynthia.  She's  my  b-bestest  doll. 
I  forgot  her."  The  voice  trailed  off  in  a  wail . 

Dale,  touched  by  her  woe,  looked  about  him. 
Certainly  no  Cynthia  was  visible.  By  rapid  ques- 
tioning on  his  part  he  drew  from  her  the  story  of 
her  desertion.  She  had  played  a  nice  game  of  run- 
ning 'round  and  'round  and  counting  the  "things," 
waiting  for  Mr.  Tony;  Cynthia  did  not  like  to  run 
because  it  shook  her  eyes,  so  she  had  put  her  down 
on  the  edge  of  the  straw  where  the  wind  would  not 
blow  on  her.  And  then  Mr.  Tony  had  come  and 
had  told  her  to  "hustle  along"  and  she  "had  runned 
awray  and  for-g-got  Cynthia!" 

"Well,  I  guess  she's  somebody  else's  Cynthia  now, 
kid.  Things  don't  stay  long  in  the  parks  'round 
here." 

Dale  seemed  so  very  old  and  very  wise  that  the 
tiny  girl  listened  to  his  verdict  with  blanching  face. 
He  knew,  of  course. 

"Where  d'you  live?"  demanded  Dale.  "Why, 
you're  just  a  baby !  Anybody  with  you?" 

The  child  pointed  rather  uncertainly  to  one  of  the 
intersecting  streets. 

"I  come  that  way,"  she  said,  then,  even  while 
saying  it,  began  to  wonder  if  that  were  the  way  she 


30  RED-ROBIN 

had  come.  The  streets  all  looked  so  much  alike. 
She  had  run  along  the  curb,  so  as  to  be  as  far  away  as 
possible  from  the  dark  alley  ways  and  the  doors. 
And  it  had  been  a  long  way 

Her  lip  quivered  though  she  would  not  cry. 
After  Cynthia's  fate,  just  to  be  lost  herself  did 
not  matter. 

"Well,  don't  you  know  where  you  live?  What's 
the  street?  I'll  take  you  home." 

"22  Patchin  Place,"  lisped  the  child. 

Dale  hesitated  a  moment  to  make  sure  of  his 
bearings.  "Well,  then,  come  along.  I  know  where 
that  is.  And  you  forget  'bout  your  Cynthia.  You've 
got  another  doll,  haven't  you?  If  you  haven't,  you 
just  ask  Santa  Claus  for  one.  Why,  say,  kiddo, 
what's  this?  You  lame?"  For  the  little  girl  skipped 
jerkily  at  his  side. 

"That's  just  the  way  I'm  made,"  the  child  an- 
swered, quite  indifferent  to  the  shocked  note  in  the 
boy's  voice.  "I  can  walk  and  run,  but  I  go  crooked." 

"What's  your  name  ?" 

"Robin  Forsyth."  She  made  it  sound  like 
"Wobbin  Force." 

"Oh,  Wobbin  Force.  Funny  name,  isn't  it? 
And  what's  your  Ma  and  Pa  going  to  say  to  you  for 
running  off?" 

Putting  a  srnall  hand  trustingly  into  the  boy's 
big  one,  the  child  skipped  along  at  his  side.  "Oh, 


A  PRINCE  31 

nothing,"  she  answered,  lost  in  an  admiring  contem- 
plation of  her  rescuer.     "What's  they,  anyway?" 

"A  Ma  ?     Don't  you  know  what  your  mother  is  ?" 

Little  Robin  met  his  astonishment  with  a  ripple 
of  laughter.  "Oh  a  mother!  I  had  a  lovely,  lovely 
mother  once  but  she's  gone  away — to  Heaven.  And 
is  a  Pa  a  Jimmie?" 

"A — what  ?"  Dale  had  never  met  such  a  strange 
child. 

'  'Cause  Jimmie's  my  Parent.  I  call  him  Pa- 
rent sometimes  and  sometimes  I  call  him  Jimmie." 

If  his  companion  had  not  been  so  very  small  Dale 
might  have  suspected  an  attempt  at  "kidding."  He 
glanced  sidewise  and  suspiciously  at  her  but  all  he 
saw  was  a  cherub  face  framed  in  a  tilted  sky-blue 
tam-o'shanter  and  straggling  ends  of  flaming 
red  hair. 

"Jimmie  won't  scold  me.  He'd  want  me  to  try 
to  find  Cynthia."  Robin  smothered  a  sigh.  "He 
wasn't  home  anyway." 

"D'you  live  all  alone?     You  and  your  Jimmie?" 

"Oh,  yes,  only  Aunt  Milly's  downstairs  and 
Grandpa  Jones  is  'cross  the  hall,  so  I'm  never  'fraid. 
They're  not  my  really  truly  aunt's  and  grandfather's 
— I  just  call  them  that.  And  Jimmie  leaves  the  light 
burning  anyway.  What's  your  name?  And  are 
you  very  old?  Are  you  a  man  like  Jimmie?" 

Dale,  warming  under  the  adoration  he  saw  on 
the  small  face,  felt  very  big  and  very  manly.  He 


32  RED-ROBIN 

returned  the  little  squeeze  that  tugged  on  his  hand. 

"Oh,  I'm  a  big  fellow,"  he  answered. 

"You  look  awful  nice,"  the  little  girl  pursued. 
"Just  like  one  of  my  make-believe  Princes.  I  wish 
you  lived  with  Jimmie  and  me.  I  wouldn't  mind 
Cynthia  then." 

"But  the  Princes  never  lived  with  the  little  girls 
in  the  stories,  you  know,"  argued  Dale,  finding  it 
a  very  pleasant  and  unusual  sensation  to  act  the  role 
of  a  Prince  even  to  a  very  small  girl.  "You  have 
to  find  me,  you  see." 

Miss  Robin  jumped  with  joy.  "Oh,  goody, 
goody!  I'll  always  make  b'lieve  you  are  a  Prince 
and  I'll  find  you  and  you  must  find  me,  too.  You 
will,  won't  you?" 

"You  just  bet  I  will,"  promised  Dale,  easily. 
"Here's  your  street."  He  stopped  to  study  the  house 
numbers.  Suddenly  a  door  flew  open  wide  and  a 
bareheaded  man  plunged  into  the  street,  almost  tum- 
bling upon  them. 

"Robin!  Good  gracious!  I  thought  you  were 
— stolen — lost — " 

Robin,  very  calm,  clasped  him  about  his  knee. 

"I  was  lost,  Jimmie.  But  this  very  big  boy 
brought  me  home.  He's  a  Prince — I  mean  he's  my 
make-believe  Prince." 

"But,  Robin — "  The  man  turned  from  the  child 
to  Dale. 


A  PRINCE  33 

"I  found  her  way  down  by  Sheridan  Square. 
She  was  hunting  for  her  doll  she'd  left  there." 

"While  I  was  walking  with  Mr.  Tony  this  after- 
noon I  played  in  the  park  and  I  forgot  Cynthia." 

"Good  Heavens — and  you  went  way  off  there  all 
by  yourself  to  find  the  thing?" 

In  her  pride  of  Dale,  Robin  overlooked  the  slur 
on  Cynthia. 

"I  went  alone,"  she  repeated,  "but  I  came  home 
with  my  Prince." 

Gradually  Robin's  father  was  recovering  from 
his  shock.  The  muscles  of  his  face  relaxed;  he  ran 
his  fingers  through  his  thick  hair,  red  like  the  child's, 
,with  a  gesture  of  throwing  off  some  horrible  night- 
mare. To  Dale  he  looked  very  boyish — with  a  little 
of  Robin's  own  cherubic  expression. 

"Well,  say,  you  gave  me  a  fright,  child.  And 
you  must  promise  not  to  do  it  again.  Why,  I  can't 
ever  leave  you  alone  unless  you  do." 

He  turned  to  Dale,  who  stood,  lingering,  loath  to 
leave  the  little  Robin  under  the  doubtful  protection 
her  Jimmie  offered.  "I'm  no  end  grateful  to  you, 
my  boy.  If  there's  anything  I  can  do  for  you — " 
He  slipped  one  hand  mechanically  into  his  pocket. 

"/  don't  want  anything."  Dale  spoke  curtly  and 
stepped  back.  "It  wasn't  any  bother;  it's  a  nice 
night  to  walk." 

With  a  child's  quick  intuition  Robin  realized  that 
her  gallant  Prince  was  about  to  slip  out  of  her  sight 


34  RED-ROBIN 

Her  Jimmie  had  pulled  his  hand  from  his  pocket  ani 
was  extending  it  to  the  boy.  He  was  not  even  in- 
viting him  to  come  in  and  smoke  like  he  always 
invited  Mr.  Tony  and  Gerald  and  all  the  others.  But 
of  course  Princes  wouldn't  smoke,  anyway. 

She  waited  until  her  father  had  finished  his 
thanks,  then,  stepping  up  to  Dale,  she  reached  out  two 
small  arms  and  by  holding  on  to  Dale's,  drew  herself 
up  almost  to  the  boy's  chin.  Upon  it  she  pressed 
a  shy,  warm  kiss. 

"Goodbye,  Prince.  You  will  hunt  for  me,  won't 
you?  Promise!  Cross  your  heart!" 

Dale,  flaming  red,  confused,  promised  that  he 
would,  then  wheeled  and  stalked  off  down  the  street. 
After  he  had  rounded  the  corner  he  lifted  his  arm  and 
wiped  his  chin  with  the  sleeve  of  his  coat.  Then 
he  stuck  his  hands  deep  in  his  pockets  and  whistled 
loudly.  But  after  a  moment,  at  a  recollection  of  sky- 
blue  eyes  underneath  a  sky-blue  tam-o'shanter,  he 
chuckled  softly.  "A  Prince!  Gee,  some  Prince!" 
But  his  head  instinctively  went  higher  at  the  honor 
thrust  upon  him. 

When  he  returned  from  the  store,  Dale  usually 
found  his  mother  sitting  by  the  lamp  crocheting. 
But  tonight  everything  was  different ;  scarcely  had  he 
stopped  at  their  landing  before  the  little  mother, 
quite  transformed,  rushed  to  greet  him  and  tell  him 
the  wonderful  bit  of  good  fortune. 

Before  it  his  own  adventure  was  forgotten. 


A  PRINCE  35 

"And  it's  only  a  beginning  it  is — it's  the  super- 
intendent he'll  be  in  no  time  at  all,  at  all,"  finished 
Mrs.  Lynch. 

"And  we  can  move?  And  I  can  join  the  Boy 
Scouts  ?  And  go  to  camp  next  summer  ?  And  have 
a  pair  of  roller  skates?" 

Mrs.  Lynch  nodded  her  head  to  each  question. 
Behind  each  note  of  her  voice  rippled  a  laugh.  "Yes, 
yes,  yes.  Sure,  it's  a  wonderful  night  this  is." 

"Where's  Pop  now?" 

"Working  with  the  extra  shift,"  the  wife  an- 
swered, proudly. 

"Any  dumplings?"  eagerly. 

"And  I  was  forgetting !  Bless  the  heart  of  you, 
of  course  I  saved  the  biggest.  'Twas  like  a  party 
tonight  for  I  dressed  your  sister  in  the  beads.  It's 
worn  out  she  is,  God  love  her,  with  the  excitement 
and  trying  to  keep  her  wee  eyes  open  'til  her  Pop 
come  home.  Hushee  or  you'll  waken  the  lamb  now." 

Dale  was  deep  in  thought  choosing  the  words 
with  which  he  would  tell  the  good  news  to  the 
"fellows"  on  the  morrow,  his  mother  was  busying 
herself  with  the  "biggest"  dumpling,  when  a  per- 
emptory knock  came  at  the  door.  With  a  quick  cry 
Mrs.  Lynch  dropped  her  spoon — why  should  any- 
thing intrude  upon  their  joy  this  night? 

A  man  stood  on  the  threshold  presenting  a  curi- 
ous figure  for  he  wore  a  heavy  coat  over  a  white 
duck  suit.  Where  had  she  seen  such  a  suit  before? 


36  RED-ROBIN 

With  a  catch  at  her  heart  she  remembered — at  the 
hospital,  that  time  Dale  had  been  run  over.  "Oh!" 
she  cried.  "My  Dan!" 

"Mrs.  Lynch?"  The  hospital  attendant  spoke 
quickly  as  one  would  who  had  a  disagreeable  task 
and  must  dispose  of  it  without  any  delay.  "Your 
husband's  had  an  accident — he's  alive,  but — you'd 
better  come." 

Mrs.  Lynch  stood  very  still  in  the  centre  of  the 
room — her  hand  clutching  her  throat  as  though  to 
stifle  the  scream  that  tore  it. 

"My  Dan — hurt !"  She  trembled  but  stood  very 
straight.  "Quick,  Dale,  we  must  go  to  him.  My 
Dan.  No,  no,  you  stay  with  Beryl.  Oh,  hurry!" 
she  implored  the  interne,  rushing  bareheaded  past 
him  down  the  stairway.  "Hurry." 

For  a  few  moments  Dale  stared  at  the  half -open 
door.  In  his  thirteen  years  he  had  experienced  the 
pinch  of  poverty,  even  hunger,  the  pain  of  injury,  but 
never  this  overwhelming  fear  of  something,  he  did 
not  know  what.  Pop,  his  big,  strong  Pop — hurt! 
Pop,  who  could  swing  him  even  now,  that  he  meas- 
ured five  feet  three  himself,  to  his  shoulder!  Oh, 
no,  no,  it  could  not  be  true!  Someone  had  made 
a  mistake.  Someone  had  cruelly  frightened  his 
mother.  Hadn't  their  luck  just  come?  Hadn't  Pop 
been  made  a  boss  ? 

"Mom-ma!"  came  Beryl's  voice,  sleepily,  from 
the  other  room.  "Mom-ma,  what's  they?" 


A  PRINCE  37 

Glad  of  anything  to  do  Dale  rushed  to  quiet 
his  little  sister.  He  bade  her,  brokenly,  to  "never 
mind  and  go  to  sleep,"  and  he  pulled  the  old  blanket 
up  tight  to  her  chin,  his  eyes  so  blinded  with  tears 
that  he  did  not  see  the  waxen  head  pillowed  close 
to  Beryl's. 

Then  he  sat  in  his  mother's  chair  and  dropped 
his  head  upon  the  table  and  waited,  his  hands  clenched 
at  his  side. 

"I  won't  cry!  I  won't  be  a  baby!  Mom'll  may- 
be need  me.  I'm  big  now!"  he  muttered,  finding 
a  little  comfort  in  the  sound  of  his  own  voice. 


Poor  Robin's  Prince;  alas,  he  felt  very  young 
and  helpless  before  the  trouble  which  he  faced. 

Big  Dan  Lynch,  he  who  had  been  the  fairest  and 
sturdiest  of  the  county  of  Moira's  girlhood,  would 
never  work  again — as  superintendent  or  even  fore- 
man ;  the  rest  of  his  days  must  be  spent  in  the  wheeled 
chair  sent  up  by  the  sympathetic  Miss  Lewis  of  the 
Neighborhood  Settlement  House.  It  was  fixed  with 
a  contrivance  so  that  he  could  move  it  about  the 
small  room. 

Little  Beryl  started  school  which  made  up  for 
a  great  deal  that  had  suddenly  been  taken  from  her 
life,  for  mother  never  sat  by  the  lamp,  now,  or 
crocheted.  She  worked  at  the  Settlement  House 


38  RED-ROBIN 

all  day  and  all  evening  busied  herself  with  her 
home  tasks. 

The  "lucky  dolly"  Beryl  hid  away  in  paper  wrap- 
pings. Somehow,  young  as  she  was,  she  knew  her 
mother  could  not  bear  the  sight  of  it. 

And  Dale  worked  every  day  at  Tony's,  going  to 
night  school  on  the  evenings  when  he  had  used  to 
go  to  the  store.  A  tightening  about  the  lips,  an 
older  seriousness  in  the  lad's  eyes  alone  told  what  it 
had  cost  him  to  give  up  his  ambition  to  graduate 
with  his  class,  perhaps  at  its  head. 

Little  Robin  with  the  sky-blue  eyes  was  quite 
forgotten ! 


CHAPTER  III 

THE  HOUSE  OF  FORSYTH 

IT  was  a  time-honored  custom  at  Gray  Manor 
that  Harkness  should  serve  tea  at  half -past  four  in 
the  Chinese  room. 

On  this  day — another  November  day,  ten  years 
after  the  events  of  the  last  chapter — Harkness  slipped 
through  the  heavy  curtains  with  his  tray  and  inter- 
rupted Madame  Forsyth,  mistress  of  Gray  Manor, 
in  deep  confab  with  her  legal  advisor,  Cornelius 
Allendyce. 

Mr.  Allendyce  was  just  saying,  crisply,  "Will 
your  mind  not  rest  easier  for  knowing  that  the 
Forsyth  fortune  will  go  to  a  Forsyth?"  when 
Harkness  rattled  the  cups. 

Then,  strangest  of  all  things,  Madame  ordered 
him  sharply  away  with  his  tray. 

Such  a  thing  had  never  happened  before  in  Hark- 
ness' experience  and  he  had  been  at  Gray  Manor 
for  fifty-five  years.  He  grumbled  complainingly  to 
Mrs.  Budge,  the  housekeeper,  and  to  Florrie, 
Madame's  own  maid,  who  was  having  a  sip  of  tea 
with  Mrs.  Budge  in  the  cosy  warmth  of  the  kitchen. 

Florrie  asserted  that  she  could  tell  them  a  story 
or  two  of  Madame's  whims  and  cranks — only  it  would 
not  become  her,  inasmuch  as  Madame  was  old  and 

39 


40  RED-ROBIN 

a  woman  to  be  pitied.  "Poor  thing,  with  this  curse 
on  the  house,  who  wouldn't  have  jumps  and  fidgets? 
I  don't  see  I'm  sure  how  any  of  us  stand  it."  But 
Florrie  spoke  with  a  hint  of  satisfaction — as  though 
proud  to  serve  where  there  was  a  "curse."  Hark- 
ness  and  Mrs.  Budge,  who  had  lived  at  Gray  Manor 
when  things  were  happier,  sighed. 

"It's  an  heir  they  be  talking  about  now," 
Harkness  admitted. 

"You  don't  say  so!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Budge  and 
Florrie  in  one  breath. 

Up  in  the  Chinese  room  Madame  Forsyth  was 
saying;  "Do  you  think  any  child  of  that — branch 
of  the  family — could  take  the  place  of — " 

"Oh,  dear  Madame,"  interrupted  the  lawyer.  "I 
am  not  suggesting  such  a  thing!  I  know  how  im- 
possible that  would  be.  But  on  my  own  responsi- 
bility I  have  made  investigations  and  I  have  ascer- 
tained that  your  husband's  nephew  has  the  one  child. 
The  nephew's  an  artist  of  sorts  and  doubtless  has  his 
ups  and  downs — most  artists  do.  Now  I  suggest — " 

"That  I  take  this— child— " 

Mr.  Allendyce  tactfully  ignored  the  scorn  in  her 
voice.  "Exactly,"  he  purred.  "Exactly.  Gordon 
is  the  child's  name.  A  very  nice  name,  I  am  sure." 

"The  child  of  an  obscure  artist — " 

"Ah,  but,  Madame,  blood  is  blood.  A  Forsyth — " 

"P'ff !"  Madame  made  a  sound  like  rock  hitting 
rock.  Indeed,  as  she  sat  there,  her  narrow  eyes 


THE  HOUSE  OF  FORSYTH  41 

gleaming  from  her  immobile  face,  her  thin  lips 
tightly  compressed,  she  looked  much  more  like  rock 
than  flesh-and-blood. 

Her  explosion  had  the  effect  of  exasperating 
the  little  lawyer  out  of  his  habitual  attitude  of 
conciliation. 

"Madame,  I  can  do  no  more  than  advise  you  in 
this  matter.  I  have  traced  down  this  child  as  a 
possible  heir  to  the  Forsyth  fortune.  However,  you 
have  it  in  your  power  to  will  otherwise.  But  let  me 
say  this — not  as  a  lawyer  but  as  your  friend.  You 
are  growing  old.  Will  you  not  find,  perhaps,  more 
happiness  in  your  old  age,  if  you  bring  a  little  youth 
into  this  melancholy  old  house — " 

"I  must  ask  you  to  withhold  your  kind  wishes 
until  some  other  time,"  interrupted  Madame,  dryly. 
"I  am  at  present  seeking  your  advice  as  a  lawyer. 
I  have  not  been  regardless  of  the  fact  that  the  House 
of  Forsyth  must  have  an  heir ;  I  have  been  thinking 
of  it  for  a  long  time — in  fact,  that  is  all  there  is 
left  for  me  to  do.  And,  though  it  is  exceedingly 
distasteful  to  me,  I  see  the  justice  in  seeking  out  one 
of — that  family.  But,  it  must  be  done  in  my  way. 
My  mind  is  quite  made  up  to  that.  You  say  there 
is  a — child.  I  wish  you  to  communicate  with  this 
child's  father — this  relative  of  my  husband,  and  in- 
form him  that  I  will  make  this  child  my  heir  provided 
he  can  be  brought  to  Gray  Manor  at  once.  He  will 
live  for  one  year  here  under  your  guardianship.  I 


42  RED-ROBIN 

will  send  for  Percival  Tubbs  who,  you  may  remem- 
ber, tutored  my  grandson.  Doubtless  he  is  old- 
f  ogyish  but  from  his  long  association  with  our  family 
he  knows  the  Forsyth  traditions  and  what  the  head 
of  the  House  of  Forsyth  should  be.  He  will  know 
whether  this  boy  can  be  trained  to  measure  up  to  it. 
If,  after  a  year,  he  does  not,  he  must  go  back — 
to  his  father.  I  will  be  fair,  of  course,  as  far  as 
money  goes.  If  he  does — "  She  stopped  suddenly, 
her  stony  demeanor  broken.  The  thin  lips  quivered 
at  the  thought  of  that  sunny  south  room  in  the  great 
house  where  had  been  left  untouched  the  toys,  the 
books,  the  games,  the  precious  trophies,  the  guns  and 
racquets,  golf  sticks  and  gloves  which  marked  each 
development  of  her  beloved  grandson. 

"A  very  fair  plan,"  murmured  the  lawyer. 

"You  have  not  heard  all,"  went  on  Madame 
Forsyth  in  such  a  strange  voice  that  Cornelius 
Allendyce  looked  up  at  her  in  astonishment.  "I  am 
going  away." 

"You !  Where  ?"  exclaimed  the  man.  He  could 
not  quite  believe  his  ears. 

"That  I  do  not  care  to  divulge."  She  enjoyed 
his  amazement.  "I  am  yielding  to  a  restlessness 
which  in  a  younger  woman  you  would  understand,  but 
which  in  me  you  would  no  doubt  term — crazy.  I 
am  going  te  run  away — to  some  new  place,  where,  for 
awhile,  no  one  will  know  whether  I  am  the  rich 
Madame  Christopher  Forsyth  or  the  poor  Mrs.  John 


THE  HOUSE  OF  FORSYTH  43 

Smith.  Oh,  I  shall  be  quite  safe ;  at  my  bank  they 
will  be  able  to  find  me  if  anything  happens.  Norris 
has  had  entire  charge  of  the  mills  for  a  long  time. 
And  Budge  and  Harkness  can  take  care  of 
things  here." 

"Madame,"  the  lawyer  was  moved  out  of  his 
customary  reserve,  "  are  you  not  possibly  running 
away  from  what  may  bring  you  happiness — 
and  comfort?" 

For  the  space  of  a  moment  the  real  heart  of  the 
woman  shone  in  her  eyes. 

"I  am  running  away.  I  might  learn  to  love  this 
boy  and  he  might  not  be  what  the  head  of  the  house 
of  Forsyth  should  be  and  I  would  have  to  send  him 
back.  And  my  heart  has  been  torn  enough.  It  is 
tired.  I  have  a  whim  to  find  new  places — new  things 
— to  rest — and  forget  all  this." 

There  was  an  interval  of  silence.  Then  Mr. 
Allendyce,  lifting  his  eyes  from  the  patent-leather 
tips  of  his  shoes,  said  quietly: 

"I  will  carry  out  your  commands  to  the  best  of 
my  ability." 

There  followed,  then,  a  great  deal  of  discussion 
over  details.  And,  while  carefully  jotting  figures 
and  memoranda  in  a  neat,  morocco  bound  note-book, 
the  little  man  of  law  felt  as  though  he  were  writing 
the  opening  chapters  of  some  fairy-tale. 

Yet  there  was  little  of  the  fairy-tale  in  the  old, 
empty  house,  a  melancholy  house  in  spite  of  its  wealth 


'44  RED-ROBIN 

of  treasure,  brought  from  every  country  on  the  globe. 
And  there  was  nothing  of  romance  in  the  Forsyth 
family  which  had  come  over  to  Connecticut  from 
England  in  the  early  days  of  its  settlement  and  had 
left  to  all  the  Forsyths  to  come,  not  only  the  be- 
ginnings of  the  Forsyth  factory  where  thread  was 
made  by  the  millions  of  spools,  and  the  Forsyth  for- 
tune, amassed  by  those  same  spools,  but  also  a  deal 
of  that  courage  which  had  helped  those  pioneers  en- 
dure the  hardships  and  meet  the  obstacles  of  the 
early  days. 

Her  business  at  an  end,  Madame  expressed  em- 
barrassment at  her  inhospitality  in  denying  Mr. 
Allendyce  his  cup  of  tea.  Would  he  not  stay  and 
dine  with  her?  Mr.  Allendyce  did  not  in  the  least 
desire  to  dine  alone  with  his  client  but  the  Wassumsic 
Inn  was  an  uninviting  place  and  New  York  was  a 
three  hours'  ride  away.  So  he  accepted  with  a  polite 
show  of  pleasure  and  assured  Madame  that  he  could 
amuse  himself  in  the  library  while  she  dressed 
for  dinner. 

Left  to  himself,  the  lawyer  fell  to  pacing  the 
velvety  length  of  the  library  floor.  This  led  him  to 
one  of  the  long  windows.  He  stopped  and  looked 
out  through  it  across  the  sloping  lawns  which  sur- 
rounded the  house.  A  low  ribbon  of  glow  hung 
over  the  edge  of  the  hills  which  lay  to  the  west  of 
the  town.  Silhouetted  against  it  was  the  ragged  line 
of  roofs  and  stacks  which  were  the  Forsyth  Mills. 


THE  HOUSE  OF  FORSYTH  45 

Familiar  with  them  through  years  of  business  associ- 
ation, the  little  man  of  law  visualized  them  now  as 
clearly  as  though  they  did  not  lay  wrapped  in  evening 
shadow;  he  saw  the  ugly,  age-old  walls,  the  glaring 
brick  of  the  new  additions,  the  dingy  yards,  the 
silver  thread  of  the  river  and  across  that  the  rows 
upon  rows  of  tiny  houses  piled  against  one  another, 
each  like  its  neighbor  even  to  the  broken  pickets 
surrounding  squares  of  cinder  ground.  He  knew, 
although  his  eyes  could  not  see,  that  these  yards  even 
now  were  hung  with  the  lines  of  everlasting  washing, 
that  men  lounged  on  those  back  doorsteps  and  smoked 
and  talked  while  women  worked  within  preparing 
the  evening  meals.  These  human  beings  were  ma- 
chines in  the  gigantic  industry  upon  which  the  House 
of  Forsyth  was  founded.  Did  Madame  ever  think 
of  them  as  flesh  and  blood  mortals — like  herself? 
Cornelius  Allendyce  smiled  at  the  question;  oh,  no, 
the  Forsyth  tradition,  of  which  Madame  talked, 
built  an  impenetrable  wall  between  her  and 
those  toilers. 

Staring  at  the  gray  hard  line  of  shadow  that  was 
the  tallest  of  the  chimneys  the  man  thought  how  like 
it  was  to  Madame  and  old  Christopher  Forsyth.  His 
long  connection  with  the  family  and  the  family  in- 
terests gave  the  lawyer  an  intimate  understanding  of 
them  and  all  that  had  happened  to  them.  And  it 
had  been  much.  Mr.  Allendyce  himself  often  spoke 
of  the  "curse"  of  Gray  Manor.  Christopher  Forsyth 


46  RED-ROBIN 

and  Madame  had  had  one  son,  Christopher  Junior. 
Allendyce  could  recall  the  elaborate  festivities  that 
had  marked  the  boy's  coming  of  age,  the  almost  royal 
pomp  of  his  wedding.  Three  years  after  that  wed- 
ding the  young  man  and  his  wife  had  been  drowned 
while  cruising  with  friends  off  the  coast  of  South- 
ern California. 

This  terrible  blow  might  have  crushed  old 
Christopher  but  for  the  toddling  youngster  who  was 
Christopher  the  Third.  The  grandfather  and  grand- 
mother shut  themselves  away  in  Gray  Manor  with 
the  one  purpose  in  life — to  bring  up  Christopher  the 
Third  to  take  his  place  at  the  head  of  the  House 
of  Forsyth. 

At  this  point  in  his  reflections  Mr.  Allendyce's 
heart  gave  a  quick  throb  of  pity — he  knew  what 
that  handsome  lad  had  been  to  the  old  couple.  He 
thought  now  how  merciful  it  had  been  that  old 
Christopher  had  died  before  that  cruel  accident  on 
the  football  field  in  which  the  lad  had  been  fatally 
injured.  The  brunt  of  the  blow  had  fallen  upon 
Madame.  And  after  the  boy's  death,  a  gloom  had 
settled  over  her  and  the  old  house  which  nothing  had 
seemed  able  to  dispel.  As  a  last  desperate  resort  the 
lawyer  had  suggested,  with  a  courage  that  cost  con- 
siderable effort,  the  finding  of  this  other  heir. 

Mr.  Allendyce  had  known  very  little  of  that 
"other  branch"  of  the  family.  Old  Christopher  had 
had  a  younger  half-brother,  Charles,  who,  at  the 


47 

time  Christopher  took  over  the  responsibilities  of  the 
head  of  the  family,  went  off  to  South  America  where 
he  married  a  young  Spanish  girl.  And  from  the 
moment  of  that  "low"'  marriage,  as  old  Christopher 
had  called  it,  to  the  investigation  by  Mr.  Allendyce's 
agents,  nothing  had  been  heard  at  Gray  Manor  of 
this  Charles  Forsyth. 

It  had  cost  considerable  money  to  trace  him  down 
but,  accomplished,  Mr.  Allendyce  had  with  satisfac- 
tion tabulated  the  results  in  his  neat  little  note-book. 
Charles  had  died  leaving  one  son,  James.  James 
had  one  child,  Gordon.  They  lived  at  22  Patchin 
Place,  New  York  City. 

The  thought  of  the  fairy  story  flashed  back  into 
the  lawyer's  mind.  He  knew  his  New  York  and 
he  knew  Patchin  Place,  where  poverty  and  ambition 
elbowed  one  another,  and  squalor  stabbed  at  the  heart 
of  beauty.  This  Gordon  Forsyth  had  his  childhood 
amid  this,  lived  on  the  rise  and  fall  of  an  artist's 
day-by-day  fortune.  Now  he  would  be  taken  from 
all  that,  brought  to  Gray  Manor,  put  under  special 
tutorage,  so  that,  some  day  he  could  step  into  that 
other  lad's  place.  If  that  didn't  equal  an  Arabian 
Night's  tale! 

"I'll  go  down  to  Patchin  Place  myself.  I'd  like 
to  see  their  faces  when  I  tell  them!"  he  declared 
aloud,  with  a  tingle  within  his  heart  that  was  a  thrill 
although  the  little  man  did  not  know  it. 

Harkness    coughed    behind    him.      He    turned 


48  RED-ROBIN" 

quickly.  Harkness  bowed  stiffly.  "Madame  awaits 
you  in  the  drawing-room." 

The  little  man-of-the-law's  chin  went  out.  "Ma- 
dame awaits — "  Poor  old  Madame ;  she  would  not 
have  known  how  to  come  in  and  say  "Let  us  go  out 
to  dinner."  There  had  to  be  all  the  ceremony  and 
fuss — or  it  would  not  have  been  Gray  Manor  and 
Madame  Christopher  Forsyth. 

"All  right.  I'll  find  her,"  Mr.  Allendyce  growled. 
Then  he  was  startled  out  of  his  usual  composure 
by  catching  the  suggestion  of  a  twinkle  in  the  Hark- 
ness eye  which,  of  course,  should  not  be  in  a  Forsyth 
butler's  eye  at  all. 


CHAPTER  IV 

RED-ROBIN 

FOR  twenty-five  years  Cornelius  Allendyce  had 
worn  nothing  but  black  ties.  On  the  morning  of 
his  contemplated  invasion  of  Patchin  Place  in  search 
of  a  Forsyth  heir  he  knotted  a  lavender  scarf  about 
his  neck  and  felt  oddly  excited.  Such  a  sudden  and 
unexplainable  impulse,  he  thought,  must  portend 
adventure. 

With  a  notion  that  all  artists  were  "at  home" 
at  tea  time,  Mr.  Allendyce  waited  until  four  o'clock 
before  he  approached  his  agreeable  task.  At  the 
door  of  22  Patchin  Place  he  dismissed  his  taxicab 
and  stood  for  a  moment  surveying  the  dilapidated 
front  of  the  building — with  a  moment's  mental  pic- 
ture of  the  magnificent  pile  that  was  Gray  Manor. 

A  pretentious  though  slightly  soiled  register  just 
inside  the  doorway,  told  him  that  "James  Forsyth" 
lived  on  the  fifth  floor,  so  the  little  man  toiled  reso- 
lutely up  the  narrow,  steep  stairway,  puffing  as  he 
ascended.  It  was  necessary  to  count  the  landings 
to  know,  in  the  dimness  of  the  hallway,  when  he 
reached  the  fifth  floor.  Ke  had  to  pause  outside  the 
door  to  catch  his  breath;  a  moment's  nausea  seized 
him  at  the  smell  of  stale  food  and  damp  walls. 

But  at  his  knock  the  door  swung  back  upon  ao 
4  49 


50  RED-ROBIN 

much  sunshine  and  color  that  the  little  man  blinked 
in  amazement.  A  mite  of  a  girl  with  a  halo  of 
sun-red  hair  smiled  at  him  in  a  very  friendly  fashion. 

"Does  Mr.  James  Forsyth  live  here?"  It  seemed 
almost  ridiculous  to  ask  the  question  for  surely  it 
must  be  some  witch's  cranny  upon  which  he  had 
stumbled. 

"Yes.  But  Jimmie  isn't  home.  Won't  you 
come  in?" 

Mr.  Allendyce  stared  about  the  room — a  big 
room,  its  size  enhanced  by  the  great  glass  windows 
and  the  glass  skylight.  Everywhere  bloomed  flowers 
in  gayly  painted  boxes  and  pots  and  tubs.  And 
after  another  blink  Mr.  Allendyce  perceived  that  there 
were  a  few  real  chairs,  very  shabby,  and  a  table 
covered  with  a  cloth  woven  in  brilliant  colors  and 
some  very  lovely  pictures  hanging  wherever,  because 
of  the  windows  and  the  sloping  roof,  there  was 
any  place  to  hang  them. 

The  young  girl  closed  the  door,  whereupon  there 
came  a  gay  chirping  from  birds  perching,  the  be- 
wildered lawyer  discovered,  in  various  places  around 
the  room  quite  as  though  this  corner  of  a  tenement 
was  a  woodland. 

"Hush,  Bo,  hush.  They're  dreadfully  noisy. 
They  love  company.  Won't  you  sit  down?" 

Mr.  Allendyce  sat  gingerly  upon  the  nearest 
chair.  His  companion  pulled  one  up  close  to  him. 
He  perceived  with  something  of  a  shock  that  she 


RED-ROBIN  51 

limped  and  at  this  discovery  he  looked  at  her  agam 
and  drew  in  a  quick  breath. 

Why,  here  was  the  oddest  little  thing  he  had  ever 
seen.  He  had  thought  her  a  child,  yet  the  wide  eyes, 
set  deep  and  of  the  blue  of  midnight,  had  a  quaint 
seriousness  and  understanding;  in  the  corner  of  her 
lips  lingered  a  tender  droop  oddly  at  variance  with 
the  childish  dimple  of  the  finely  moulded  chin, 
Though  the  girl's  red  hair — like  flame,  as  the  lawyer 
had  first  thought,  gave  her  an  alive  look,  the  little 
form  under  the  queer  straight  dress  was  diminutive 
to  frailty. 

"Who  are  you,  my  dear?" 

"Robin  Forsyth.  Jimmie  calls  me  Red-Robia 
because  I  hop  when  I  walk." 

"Is  Jimmie  your — " 

"He's  my  Parent.     Do  you  know  Jimmie?" 

"N-no,  not — exactly."  The  little  man  was  won- 
dering how  his  investigators  had  failed  to  report 
this  young  girl. 

"Jimmie  ought  to  be  her?  soon.  He  went  out 
to  sell  a  picture  to  old  Mrs.  Wycke.  She  wanted  it 
but  she  wanted  it  cheap,  Jimmie  says.  But  we 
didn't  have  anything  to  eat  today  so  he  took  the 
picture  to  her  and  he's  going  to  bring  back  some 
cake  and  ice  cream.  We'll  have  a  party.  Will 
you  stay?" 

"Good  heavens,"  thought  Allendyce,  startled  at 


52  RED-ROBIN 

her  astonishing  frankness.  He  reached  out  and 
patted  the  small  hand. 

"You  are  very  kind.  Does  your  Jimmie  sell—- 
many pictures?" 

"Not  many — I  heard  him  and  Mr.  Tony  talking. 
Mr.  Tony's  his  best  friend.  If  it  were  not  for  me 
Jimmie'd  go  away  with  Mr.  Tony.  Mr.  Tony  writes, 
you  see,  and  he  wants  Jimmie  to  illustrate  for  him." 

"And  where  is  your  brother  Gordon?" 

Robin  stared.     "My — brother — Gordon?" 

"Yes.     Gordon—" 

"7  am  Gordon." 

"You!" 

"My  real  name  is  Gordon  but  Jimmie  doesn't  like 
it  He  always  said  it  was  too  formal  for  a  little 
girl.  So  he  calls  me  Red-Robin  and  he  says  he'll 
never  call  me  anything  else.  Why  do  you  look 
so  funny?" 

For  Mr.  Allendyce  seemed  to  have  crumpled  to- 
gether and  to  be  quite  speechless. 

"Don't  you  think  I'm  too,  oh,  sort  of  insignificant, 
to  be  Gordon?  I  like  Robin  much  better." 

The  lawyer  did  not  hear  her.  Here  was  a  fine 
balking  of  all  his  and  Madame's  plans.  The 
Forsyth  heir!  That  that  heir  should  be  a  girl  had 
never  entered  their  calculations.  And  a  little  lame 
girl  at  that;  Mr.  Allendyce  suddenly  recalled  how 
Madame  had  worshipped  the  splendid  manliness  of 
young  Christopher  the  Third. 


RED-ROBIN  53 

"Is  there  anything  the  matter  with  you,  Mr. — 
why,  you  haven't  told  me  your  name!" 

With  a  tremendous  effort  Cornelius  Allendyce 
pulled  himself  together.  He  flushed  under  the  won- 
dering wide-eyed  scrutiny  of  his  companion,  who 
reached  out  and  laid  a  small,  warm  hand  upon  his. 

"You're  not  ill,  are  you?"  with  solicitude. 

"No — no,  my  dear.  No,  I  am  not  ill.  But  I 
am  upset.  You  see — I  came  here — well,  I  call  it — 
a  most  interesting  story.  Up  in  Connecticut  there's 
a  small  town  and  a  very  big  mill  which  has  been 
there  for  ever  so  long,  heaping  up  millions  of  dollars. 
And  there's  a  very  big  house  there  that  looks  like 
a  castle  because  it's  built  of  gray  stone  and  is  up 
on  a  hill — it  has  everything  but  the  moat  itself. 
And  an  old  lady  lives  there  all  alone."  The  lawyer 
paused,  a  little  frightened  at  a  wild  thought  that 
was  persistently  creeping  up  over  his  sensibilities. 
It  must  be  the  lavender  tie  or  the  witchery  of  the 
flowers  and  the  absurd  chirping  birds. 

"Oh,  that's  the  old  Dragon!"  cried  Robin,  de- 
lightedly, with  a  chuckle  as  though  she  knew  all  about 
the  old  lady  and  the  lonely  castle.  "That's  what 
Jimmie  calls  her — poor  old  thing.  Jimmie  says  she 
must  be  dreadfully  unhappy  in  that  lonely  old  house 
after  all  that's  happened  there." 

"Do  you— do  you  mean  that — you  know — " 

"About     those     rich     Forsyth's?        Why,     of 


54  RED-RCBIN 

course.  That's  Jimmie's  pet  story — about  his 
terrible  relatives." 

"But  your   father  has  never — " 

"Seen  her?  Oh,  no.  Jimmie's  very  proud,  you 
see.  And  he  thinks  one  good  picture  is  worth  more 
than  any  old  fortune  or  mill  or  anything.  Oh, 
Jimmie's  wonderful.  Why,  we  wouldn't  trade  our 
little  home  here  for  two  of  her  castles!  Jimmie 
couldn't  paint  if  he  were  rich.  He  says  money  kills 
genius.  Only — "  She  stopped  abruptly,  flushing. 

"Only  what,  my  dear — " 

"I  ought  not  to  rattle  on  like  this  to  you.  Jimmie 
says  I  am — sometimes — too  friendly.  I  suppose  it's 
because  I  don't  know  many  people.  But  I  wish  I 
just  had  a  little  money.  You  see  I'm  not  a  bit  of 
a  genius.  I  can't  paint  like  Jimmie  or  sing  like  my 
mother  did — or  do  a  single  thing." 

Now  Mr.  Allendyce  suddenly  felt  so  excited  that 
he  wriggled  on  the  rickety  chair  until  it  creaked 
threateningly. 

"If  you  had  money,  Miss  Gordon — what  would 
you  do?" 

"Why  I'd  run  away."  She  answered  with 
startling  promptness.  "Oh,  I  don't  mean  that  I'm 
not  happy  here.  I  love  it.  And  I  adore  Jimmie. 
But  I'm  a  girl  and  I'm  lame,  so  I'm  a — a  millstone 
'round  Jimmie's  neck!" 

"What  in  the  world—" 

"Promise  you  won't  ever  tell  him  what  I'm  say- 


RED-ROBIN  55 

ing.  Oh,  he'd  feel  dreadfully.  You  see  it's  just 
that.  He  feels  sorry  'cause  I'm  lame  and  he  won't 
believe  that  I  don't  mind  a  bit — why,  I  can  run  and 
do  everything — and  he  won't  ever  go  anywhere  with- 
out me.  And  an  artist  shouldn't  have  to  be  tied 
down ;  I  heard  Mr.  Tony  say  so,  once,  when  Jimmie 
was  very  blue.  He  didn't  know  I  heard.  Now 
Mr.  Tony's  going  off  for  a  long  cruise  in  the  Soutk 
Seas  on  a  sailing  boat  and  he  wants  Jimmie  to  go  witk 
him.  He's  going  to  write  stories  and  he  says  if 
Jimmie  sees  it  all  he  will  make  his  fortune  painting 
pictures.  And  he  can  illustrate  the  stories,  too.  And 
Jimmie  won't  go  because  he  won't  leave  me.  Don't 
you  see  what  I'd  do  if  I  had  some  money?  I'd 
run  away  somewhere  and  tell  Jimmie  that  he  must 
go  with  Mr.  Tony." 

Mr.  Allendyce  sprang  to  his  feet  and  paced  up 
and  down  the  room.  In  all  his  life  the  world  had 
never  seemed  so  full  of  youth  and  color  and  adven- 
ture as  it  did  at  that  precise  moment;  his  cautious 
soul  fairly  burst  with  imaginative  daring. 

"Miss  Gordon — that's  what  I  came  for.     I  mean, 
I  came  to  tell  this  Gordon  Forsyth  that  the  old  lady, 
Madame   Forsyth,   wanted  him  to  come  to  Gray 
Manor  to  live — for  a  year.     He's  to   be  tutored 
there.     And  if  at  the  end  of  a  year  he  is  a — " 
"But  there  isn't  any  he !     Gordon's  me." 
"I  know.     I  know.     But  a  Forsyth's  a  Forsyth." 
"You  mean — /  might  go  to — the  castle — >" 


56  RED-ROBIN 

"Yes,  why  not?  Madame — and  I —  just  took 
it  for  granted  that  you  were  a  boy,  because  of  your 
name.  But  our  mistake  does  not  make  you  any  less 
a  Forsyth  or  less  a  possible  heir — "  The  thought 
was  a  full-fledged  idea  now! 

"Who  are  you?"  broke  in  Robin,  excitedly. 

"I  am  Cornelius  Allendyce,  attorney  for  the 
Forsyth  family.  And  I  am — if  your  father  con- 
sents— your  future  guardian." 

"Oh,  Jimmie'll  never  consent,  never!" 

"Why  not?"  pressed  the  lawyer.  "You  say  you 
have  no — particular  genius  to  be  killed  by — money." 

"Would  it  mean  that  I'd  have  to  give  Jimmie 
up  forever?" 

"No,  my  dear.  Indeed  no.  Madame's  plan  is 
that  you  are  to  go  to  Gray  Manor  under  my  guardian- 
ship to  live  for  a  year.  At  the  end  of  that  time, 
if  she  is  satisfied — Why,  your  father  would  simply 
give  up  any  claim — " 

"Oh,  you  don't  know  Jimmie.  He'd  never  do 
it,  unless — "  she  paused,  her  eyes  suddenly  wet, 
"unless — 7 — gave  him  up.  All  his  life  he's  made 
sacrifices  and  given  up  things  for  me — big  chances. 
So  now— couldn't  I  run  away  with  you — and  then 
write  and  tell  him?" 

The  Cornelius  Allendyce  who  had  lived  up  to 
that  moment  of  crossing  the  threshold  of  this  fifth- 
floor  witchery  would  have  scorned  such  a  suggestion 
as  "ridiculous!  ridiculous!"  But  the  Cornelius 


RED-ROBIN  57; 

Allendyce  of  the  lavender  tie  saw  mad  possibilities 
in  such  a  step.  Take  the  girl  to  Gray  Manor  and 
settle  with  Mr.  James  Forsyth  afterwards. 

"Couldn't  I?" 

"Why — yes,  if  you  think  your  father  would 
accept  the  situation — when  he  knew." 

"Oh,  I'd  tell  him  he  had  to,  that  he  must  go  away 
with  Mr.  Tony.  And  he'd  go.  But,  Mr.  Allendyce 
—I  couldn't  go  tonight.  I  just  couldn't  let  Jimmie 
tome  back  with  the  ice  cream  and  cake  and  maybe 
a.  pumpkin  pie  and — not  find  me  here.  Our  parties 
are  such  fun.  If  you'll  come  tomorrow  at  three 
o'clock — I'll  be  ready.  But  what  will  the  Dragon 
say  when  she  sees  that  I'm  a  girl?" 

Mr.  Allendyce  suddenly  laughed  aloud.  The 
whole  thing  was  so  very  simple.  Madame  only 
waited  a  telegram  from  him  to  set  forth  upon  her 
travels.  Why  let  her  know  that  Gordon  was  a  girl 
until  the  year  had  passed? 

"We  will  not  worry  about  that,  my  dear.  Ma- 
dame is  going  away.  She  will  not  be  back  at  Gray 
Manor  for  a  long  time.  I  will  call  at  three — tomor- 
row. I  trust  you  will  make  your  Jimmie  understand. 
You  know  this  is  a  very  unusual  step — there  are 
some  who  might  call  it  abduction — " 

"Oh,  Jimmie  wouldn't!"  assured  Robin.  "Not 
when  I  tell  him  why  I'm  running  away." 

Robm  had  answered  him  so  indifferently  that 
Cornelius  Allendyce  felt  her  mind  was  working  out 


58  RED-ROBIN 

a  plan  for  the  morrow.  He  gave  a  last  look  about 
the  room  as  though  he  wished  to  carry  away  a  per- 
fect impression  of  it,  then  patted  the  girl  on 
the  shoulder. 

"Here  is  my  card  and  the  telephone  number  of 
my  office.  If  you  decide  that  this  step  is — too  irregu- 
lar, if  perhaps  we  ought  to  talk  with  your  father 
first—" 

"No!  No!"  cried  Robin.  "That  would  spoil 
ererything !" 

Down  in  the  street  Cornelius  Allendyce  waved  off 
a  persistent  taxi  driver,  deciding  that  he  needed  the 
rent  of  exercise  to  bring  him  back  to  earth.  And 
as  he  hurried  along  he  felt  a  curious  elation,  as  though 
for  the  first  time  he  enjoyed  a  zest  in  living.  As  a 
lawyer  his  life  had  been  necessarily  cut-and-dried ; 
there  had  been  little  room  for  adventuring.  And 
now,  in  a  brief  half -hour,  he  had  let  himself  into  the 
wildest  sort  of  conspiracy.  (He  stopped  suddenly 
and  mopped  his  forehead.)  He  was  planning  to 
{deliberately  deceive  Madame  Forsyth,  to  steal  a  young 
and  very  unusual  girl  from  her  parent — and,  to 
assume  the  guardianship  of  this  same  runaway. 
[Where  would  it  all  end? 

But  in  that  half-hour  just  past  something  must 
have  happened  to  the  little  man's  conscience  for 
even  after  the  startling  summing  up,  he  laughed  and 
walked  on  with  a  step  lighter  than  before. 


RED-ROBIN  59 

******* 

Back  on  the  fifth  floor  of  the  old  house  in  Patchin 
Place  Robin  leaned  over  the  table  writing  a  letter. 
Her  task  was  made  the  more  difficult  because  of  the 
tears  which  blinded  her  eyes. 

"Jimmie,  I  love  you  more  than  anything  in  the 
world  but  I  am  going  to  run  away  and  leave  you. 
T  am  going  to  the  Dragon.  She  wants  an  heir. 
I  am  going  to  live  in  the  castle  and  have  a  tutor. 
And  my  guardian  is  going  to  be  the  Dragon's  lawyer 
— he's  ever  so  nice  and  fathery — so  you  see  I  will 
be  looked  after  as  well  as  can  be.  Jimmie  dearest- 
darling,  you  must  not  worry  about  me  or  try  to  make 
me  come  back  for  I'll  be  all  right  and  you  must  go 
away  with  Mr.  Tony  and  paint  lots  and  I'll  be  so 
proud.  And  please,  please  Jimmie,  make  Aunt 
Milly  promise  to  take  care  of  the  birds  and  the 
flowers  for  they  mustn't  die.  And  you  will  write 
to  me,  won't  you?  Goodbye,  Jimmie,  don't  forget 
your  hot  milk  at  night.  Yours  always  and  always, 
Red-Robin." 

She  had  just  signed  the  letter  when  James 
Forsyth  opened  the  door.  She  thrust  it  into  her 
'pocket  as  she  turned  to  meet  him. 

"Oh,  Jimmie!"  she  cried,  for  under  his  arm  he 
carried  the  picture  he  had  taken  to  sell  to  Mrs.  Wycke. 

"She  didn't  want  it,"  he  explained,  testily. 

The  girl  had  been  well  schooled  in  disappoint- 
ment ;  not  the  slightest  shadow  now  crossed  her  face. 


6o  RED-ROBIN 

"Someone  will,  Jimmie,"  she  declared,  brightly, 
taking  the  heavy  package  from  him.  "And  you  said 
yourself  Mrs.  Wycke  couldn't  tell  a  chromo  from 
a  masterpiece.  We  don't  want  her  to  have  our  pic- 
ture anyway.  I'm  not  a  bit  hungry— are  you, 
Jimmie?  Let's  sit  here  all  cosy  and  you  read  to 
me — "  and  thinking  of  the  note  that  lay  in  her  pocket, 
she  reached  up  very  suddenly  and  kissed  her  Jimmie 
to  hide  the  break  in  her  voice. 


CHAPTER  V 

JIMMIE 

ROBIN  found  running  away  amazingly  simple. 
Poor  Jimmie,  at  her  urging,  went  out  quite  unsus- 
pecting. She  was  so  excited  and  there  was  so  much 
to  be  done  at  the  last  moment,  that  she  had  no  time 
to  think  what  the  parting  with  all  she  loved  so  dearly 
must  mean  to  her. 

Promptly  at  three  o'clock  Cornelius  Allendyce 
tapped  on  the  door.  His  face  was  very  red  and 
moist  and  his  hand,  as  he  reached  out  for  Robin's 
bag,  shook,  but  Robin  did  not  notice  all  that;  she 
slipped  quickly  through  the  door  and  shut  it  behind 
her,  as  though  fearful  that  at  the  last  moment  she 
might  find  it  impossible  to  go. 

Out  in  the  thin  sunshine,  whirring  through  the 
traffic  of  the  crowded  streets,  neither  spoke  for 
breathlessness.  Cornelius  Allendyce  stared  at  the 
buildings  and  swallowed  at  regular  intervals  to  steady 
his  nerves — a  trick  he  had  always  found  most  help- 
ful in  important  legal  trials.  Robin  kept  her  eyes 
glued  on  the  back  of  the  taxi  driver's  head  but  he 
might  have  had  two  heads  and  one  upside  down  for 
all  she  noticed.  Her  hands  in  her  lap  were  clenched 
very  tight  and  her  lips  were  pressed  in  a  straight, 

thin,  resolute  line. 

61 


62  RED-ROBIN 

But  as  tney  kept  on  past  Forty-second  street 
and  headed  toward  Central  Park  West  the  lawyer 
explained  that  he  was  taking  her  to  his  own  home 
for  the  night. 

"My  sister  will  make  you  quite  comfortable. 
Tomorrow  we  will  go  out  to  Wassumsic."  He  did 
not  say  that  it  was  important,  too,  to  give  Madam* 
Forsyth  ample  opportunity  to  get  away  from 
Gray  Manor. 

Robin  drew  a  long  breath  and  relaxed.  It  had 
taken  so  very  much  courage  to  run  away  that  she  had 
little  left  with  which  to  face  her  new.  life.  Tomor- 
row it  might  be  easier. 

Miss  Effie  Allendyce  took  her  under  her  wing 
in  a  fluttery,  mothery  sort  of  a  jvay  with  a  great 
many  "my  dear's." 

"I  suppose,"  the  lawyer  had  said,  looking  at  the 
two,  "you,  Effie,  will  have  to  get  Miss  Forsyth  some 
clothes  tomorrow — " 

"Clothes,"  Robin  cried,  astonished.  *'I — brought 
some." 

"Well,  you  probably  ought  to  have  some  other 
kind.  You  see,  my  dear,  you  are  a  Forsyth  of 
Gray  Manor  now."  He  turned  to  his  sister.  "Effie, 
can  you  get  all  she  needs — everything,  before  to- 
morrow at  three  o'clock?" 

Effie's  eyes  danced  at  such  a  task — indeed,  she 
could.  She  knew  a  shop  where  she  could  buy  every- 
thing that  a  girl  might  need. 


JIMMIE  63 

"Well,  I'll  leave  you  two  to  make  out  lists.  Isn't 
tkat  what  you  have  to  do?" 

So,  for  a  few  hours  the  making  of  these  amazing 
lists  kept  Robin's  thoughts  from  that  little  fifth  floor 
home  and  Jimmie.  Miss  Efrie  began  with  shoes  and 
finished  with  hats,  with  little  abbreviations  in  brackets 
to  include  caps  and  scarfs  and  all  sorts  of  things. 
"It  is  very  cold  in  Wassumsic,"  she  explained,  "and 
you  will  live  a  great  deal  out  of  doors.  It  is  very 
lovely,"  she  added,  making  a  round  period  after 
"sweater." 

And  there  was  another  list  which  included  a 
wrist  watch  and  a  writing  set.  "They  can  send  on 
*iost  of  these  things,"  she  pondered. 

Robin  slyly  pinched  herself  to  know  that  she 
was  still  a  living-breathing  girl ;  all  seemed  as  unreal 
as  though  she  had  slipped  away  into  a  magician's 
world. 

But  the  lists  completed,  dinner  over,  alone  with 
her  new  guardian,  an  overwhelming  loneliness  swept 
her.  Cornelius  Allendyce,  turning  from  a  protracted 
study  of  the  blazing  fire,  was  startled  to  find  the 
girl's  head  pillowed  in  her  arm,  her  shoulders  shaking 
with  smothered  sobs. 

"My  dear !  My  dear !"  he  exclaimed,  very  much 
as  Miss  Efrie  would  have  done. 

"I— I  can't  help  it.     I  tried—" 

Poor  Robin  looked  so  very  small  in  the  big  chair 
that  remorse  seized  Cornelius  Allendyce.  How  could 


64  RED-ROBIN 

he  have  taken  this  little  girl  from  her  corner,  shabby 
as  it  was? 

It  was  not  too  late — 

"Miss  Gordon,"  he  began  a  little  uneasily,  won- 
dering what  guardians  did  when  their  wards  were 
hysterical.  "My  dear,  don't  cry,  I  beg  of  you. 
Come,  it  is  not  too  late  to  go  back.  We  will 
explain* — " 

Robin  lifted  her  head.  "I — I  don't  want  to  go 
back.  But  I  was  thinking  of  Jimmie.  He  must  be 
awfully  lonesome — now.  You  see  you  don't  know 
Jimmie.  He  depends  on  me  to  remind  him  of  things 
like  his  hot  milk.  And  just  at  first,  it  will  be  hard. 
But,  no,  no,  I  don't  want  to  go  back." 

"Then  I  would  suggest  that  you  go  to  bed.  You 
are  doubtless  very  tired  from  the  excitement  of  every- 
thing. And  tomorrow  will  be  a  busy  day — and  an 
interesting  day." 

Robin  drew  herself  slowly  from  the  chair.  She 
limped  over  to  the  divan  upon  which  Cornelius 
Allendyce  sat.  Her  eyes  were  very  steady,  dark 
with  earnestness. 

"I'm  ashamed  I  cried.  I  won't  do  it  again.  But 
I  want  you  to  know,  oh,  you  must  know,  that  I'm 
not  going  to  Gray  Manor  because  of  all  those  clothes 
and  the  money  or  anything  like  that.  There  could 
not  be  anything  at  Gray  Manor  as  nice  as  Jimmie 's 
and  my  bird-cage.  But  I  want  Jimmie  to  have 
his  chance — " 


JIMMIE  65 

Left  alone,  Cornelius  Allendyce  found  himself 
haunted  by  Robin's  "Jimmie  must  be  awfully  lone- 
some." What  a  strange  pair — the  quaint  old-young 
girl  living  in  a  world  which  circled  around  this 
father — the  father,  by  the  girl's  own  assertion,  "de- 
pending" upon  the  girl.  And  little  Robin,  scarcely 
more  than  a  child,  realizing  that  she  hindered  the 
man's  development,  talking  about  giving  him  "his 
chance"  and  at  such  cost — and  promising  that  she 
would  not  cry  again.  "There's  bravery  for  you!" 
muttered  the  lawyer  aloud. 

He  believed  that  Miss  Effie's  lists  of  finery  and 
knick-knacks  held  little  attraction  for  the  girl. 

He  recalled  Madame  Forsyth's  scornful  "that 
other  branch  of  the  family."  Yet  this  James 
Forsyth  and  Gordon  had  lived  for  years  and  often 
in  want  in  New  York  City,  and  had  never  approached 
Madame  for  as  much  as  a  penny.  Robin  had  said 
Jimmie  couldn't  paint  if  he  were  ricn.  Could  he 
paint  if  he  lost  her? 

Suddenly  Cornelius  Allendyce  had  a  vivid  under- 
standing of  the  tie  that  bound  these  two.  And  it 
was  unthinkable  that  this  man  would  let  the  girl 
go  and  do  nothing.  Yet  it  was  not  of  any  possible 
embarrassment  he  might  suffer  that  Cornelius  Allen- 
dyce thought  at  this  moment;  it  was  of  the  heart- 
break of  the  father.  He  had  not  considered  him  at 
all ;  carried  away  by  a  mad  impulse  he  had  let  himself 
6 


66  RED-ROBIN 

listen  to  a  child  and  had  lost  his  own  sense  of  justice. 
Why,  it  had  been  rank  robbery!  He  must  go  to 
this  man  at  once.  Muttering  to  himself  he  went 
in  search  of  his  hat  and  coat. 


For  the  third  time  the  little  lawyer  climbed  the 
flights  of  stairs  at  22  Patchin  Place.  And  this  time, 
so  eager  was  he  to  square  himself  with  Robin's 
Jimmie,  he  ran  up  the  steps.  He  knocked  twice  and 
when  no  one  answered  he  opened  the  door  quietly 
and  walked  in. 

A  man  sat  at  the  litttle  table,  his  head  dropped 
in  his  outflung  arms.  Cornelius  Allendyce  knew  it 
was  Jimmie.  Another  man  stood  over  him,  his 
face  flushed  with  impatience.  "Mr.  Tony,"  thought 
the  lawyer.  He  was  evidently  just  drawing  breath 
after  a  heated  argument. 

"Pardon  my  intrusion,  gentlemen.  I  knocked 
but  I  do  not  think  you  heard  me."  Allendyce 
stopped  short,  for  his  usual  measured  words  seemed 
out  of  place  at  this  moment.  "I  am  Cornelius 
Allendyce,"  he  finished  humbly  and  guiltily.  "I 
came  back  to — explain." 

James  Forsyth  made  a  lightning-quick  movement 
as  though  he  would  spring  at  the  little  lawyer's 
throat.  Mr.  Tony  held  him  back. 

"Jimmie — wait.     Let  him  talk." 

"It  was  Miss  Robin's  wish  to  slip  away  without 


JIMMIE  67 

telling  you.  She  said  you  would  not  let  her  go  and 
she  had  quite  made  up  her  mind  to  give  you — what 
she  calls — your  chance.  She  has  an  idea  that  she 
ties  you  down — " 

Jimmie  choked  as  a  sob  strangled  in  his  throat. 
His  anger  suddenly  melted  to  abjection.  Mr.  Tony 
laid  a  comforting  hand  on  his  shoulder  and  turned 
to  the  lawyer. 

"The  girl  is  right.  She's  a  wonderful  little 
thing.  She  always  could  see  further  ahead  than  her 
Dad.  I  have  been  telling  my  pal  that  this  is  the  best 
thing  all  around  that  could  happen — a  fine  bit  of 
luck  for  everyone.  Robin  will  go  up  to  Gray  Manor 
and  be  as  happy  and  safe  as  can  be  and  her  father 
can  travel  and  work — the  way  Robin  wants  him  to. 
Robin  took  rather  unusual  means  to  gain  her  end 
but — well,  she  knew  what  she  was  doing." 

Jimmie  turned  to  Cornelius  Allendyce  and  studied 
his  face  with  a  desperate  keenness. 

"She  isn't  like  other  children,"  he  began  slowly. 
"Poor  little  crooked  kiddie.  She's  sensitive.  I've 
kept  her  away  from  everything  that  could  hurt  her. 
I've  tried — to  make  up  to  her.  I  thought  she  was 
happy;  I  did  not  know  she  guessed — or  knew — " 

Mr.  Tony  had  taken  a  few  steps  down  the  room. 
He  wheeled  now  and  came  back  with  a  set  expression 
on  his  face  as  though  he  had  to  say  something  dis- 
agreeable and  must  get  it  over  with. 

"Jimmie,  suppose,  just  for  once,  you  look  your 


68  RED-ROBIN 

soul  straight  in  the  eye — honest.  Now  isn't  it  the 
artist  heart  of  you  that's  hurt  by  Robin's  crooked 
little  body — and  not  the  child?  Don't  you  keep  her 
shut  up  in  here  because,  when  people  stare  at  her — 
you  suffer  ?  Have  you  been  fair  to  her  ?  Oh,  yes — 
you  love  her,  all  right.  Well,  then,  let  her  go.  Robin 
thinks  she's  giving  you  your  chance — well,  /  say, 
give  the  girl  her  own." 

"I  tell  you  Robin's  different — she  doesn't  want 
money  or  clothes!" 

"Well,  pretty  things  — and  good  food — can  make 
even  a  "different"  girl's  heart  lighter.  Come,  old 
man,  go  off  with  me  on  this  cruise  and  work  your 
head  off  and  at  the  end  of  the  year — if  Robin's  not 
happy  there,  well,  you  can  make  other  plans.  I'm 
like  Robin,  I  believe  that  give  you  a  year,  you'll  do 
something  rather  big." 

James  Forsyth  suddenly  lifted  a  face  so  boyishly 
helpless,  so  defeated,  that  Allendyce's  heart  went  out 
to  him.  He  understood,  all  at  once,  what  little  Robin 
had  meant  when  she  had  said,  "You  don't  know 
Jimmie !"  He  certainly  was  not  like  other  men. 

"I  feel  such  a — quitter.  I  promised  Robin's 
mother — I'd  make  up  to  the  child  for  her  being  lame 
— the  way  she  would  have,  if  she'd  lived.  And  I've 
failed.  Why,  only  last  night  she  went  to  bed  hun- 
gry." There  followed  a  moment  of  tense  silence, 
then  the  man  went  on  dully,  in  a  tone  that  implied 
yielding.  "I  suppose  I  may  know  all  the  circum- 
stances that  led  up  to — this." 


JIMMIE  69 

Cornelius  Allendyce  proceeded  to  tell  everything 
from  the  day  of  his  interview  with  Madame  to  the 
moment  of  his  consternation  upon  discovering  that 
Gordon  Forsyth  was  a  girl  and  not  a  boy.  He  re- 
peated word  for  word  Robin's  and  his  conspiring; 
he  described  their  flight  and  Robin's  break  down  in 
his  library. 

"She  had  not  lost  courage — oh,  no.  But  she  was 
thinking  of  you.  She  was  afraid  you'd  forget  to 
take  your  hot  milk  at  night  or  something  like  that," 
he  finished  simply. 

There  were  other  details  for  the  lawyer  to  ex- 
plain to  James  Forsyth,  having  to  do  with  allow- 
ances and  schooling.  Then,  when  everything  had 
been  said  that  was  necessary  to  be  said,  James  Forsyth 
rose  wearily. 

"If  that's  all,  I'd  like  it  if  you  two  would  leave 
me  here — alone."  He  held  out  his  hand  to  Mr. 
Allendyce.  "Understand,  if  she's  not  happy — " 

"Our  agreement  ends." 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE  FORSYTH  HEIR 

HARKNESS'  mother  had  once  lived  in  an  English 
duke's  family  and  Harkness  had  been  brought  up  on 
stories  of  the  ceremonious  life  there.  Therefore  he 
considered  it  quite  fitting  that  he  should  take  upon 
himself  the  planning  for  the  reception  of  the 
Forsyth  heir. 

"I  say  it  do  be  a  pity  Madame  could  not  'ave 
waited,"  he  grumbled  to  Mrs.  Budge.  "To  'ave  the 
poor  little  fellow  arrive  here  alone  don't  seem 
right.  But  Madame  says  'Harkness,  you'll  do  every- 
thing—' " 

"Everything!"  snorted  Mrs.  Budge,  who  had  just 
come  down  from  dusting  the  "boy's"  room.  The 
familiar  "clutter,"  as  she  had  always  called  it,  had 
roused  poignant  memories,  so  that  her  wrinkled  face 
was  streaked  now  and  red.  '  'Pears  to  me  most  you 
do  is  talk — and  talk  big.  It's  Harkness  this  and 
Harkness  that !  To  be  sure  my  mother  was  a  plain 
New  England  woman — " 

"Now,  Budge,  now,  Budge,"  interrupted  Hark- 
ness, consolingly.  "No  one  as  I  know  is  going  to 
dispute  that  your  mother  was  a  plain  New  England 
woman.  And  we're  not  going  to  quarrel  at  such 
a  rememberable  moment,  not  we.  And  we're  going 
to  give  Mr.  Gordon  a  welcome  as  is  befitting  a 
70 


THE  FORSYTH  HEIR  71 

Forsyth.  At  the  appointed  hour  we'll  gather  at  the 
door — you  must  stand  at  the  head  of  the  long  line 
of  servants — " 

"Long  line  of  servants !  And  where  do  you  ex- 
pect to  get  them,  I'd  like  to  know?  Things  have 
been  at  sixes  and  sevens  in  this  house  ever  since  the 
gloom  came.  And  that  new  piece  from  the  village 
ain't  worth  her  salt  's  far  as  work  goes." 

Poor  Harkness  had  to  recognize  the  truth  of 
what  Budge  said.  Since  the  "gloom"  things  had 
been  going  at  sixes  and  sevens — inexperienced  help 
called  up  from  the  village  to  fill  any  need.  He  was 
not  to  be  daunted,  however ;  there  were  the  gardener 
and  the  undergardener  and  the  chauffeur  and  the 
stableman  and  they  had  wives  who  might  be  induced 
to  put  on  their  Sunday  clothes  and  join  in  the  cere- 
monial— all  in  all,  they  could  make  a  fair  showing. 

Into  the  plans  for  the  dinner  Mrs.  Budge  threw 
herself  with  her  whole  heart.  There  must  be  young 
turkey  and  cranberry  sauce,  and  a  tasty  salad  and  a 
good  old  New  England  pumpkin  pie,  which  she  would 
make  herself,  and  ice  cream  and  little  cakes  with 
colored  frosting — oh,  Budge  knew  what  a  boy  liked. 

And  Harkness  would  brighten  the  great  dark 
hall  with  bitter-sweet  and  deck  the  gloomy  rooms 
with  flowers — he  knew  what  was  proper  for  the 
coming  of  the  heir  of  the  House  of  Forsyth. 

"Like  as  not,"  Budge  said,  "  'twill  be  the  end  to 
this  curse." 


72  RED-ROBIN 

So  the  two  old  retainers,  their  hearts  full  of  hope 
for  a  new  happiness  over  Gray  Manor,  labored  until 
the  old  house  shone  and  bloomed  for  the  coming 
of  Gordon  Forsyth.  And  a  few  minutes  before  the 
hour  of  arrival,  the  gardener  and  the  undergardener 
and  the  stableman  and  their  wives  came  in,  breathless 
with  importance;  Chloe,  the  old  colored  cook,  ap- 
peared in  a  brand  new  turban  and  'kerchief.  Mrs. 
Budge,  her  gray  hair  brushed  back  tighter  than  ever, 
donned  her  black  silk  which  she  had  not  worn  since 
young  Christopher's  eighteenth  birthday  and  took 
her  place  at  the  head  of  the  line  just  a  foot  or  two 
behind  Harkness  who,  of  course,  had  the  honor  of 
opening  the  door. 

Mrs.  Budge,  however,  watched  the  service  door 
at  the  end  of  the  long  hall  with  fretful  eyes.  "That 
piece,"  she  confided  to  Harkness,  the  moment  not 
being  so  important  as  to  still  her  grumbling,  "said 
she  wouldn't  come  in.  And  when  I  told  her  she 
could  just  choose  t'wixt  this  and  the  door  she  said 
she  wouldn't  dress  up,  anyways.  Impertinent  chit! 
Thinks  she's  too  good  for  the  place.  Things  have 
gone  to  sixes  and  sevens — " 

Harkness  was  holding  his  watch  in  his  hand. 
And  just  as  he  shut  it  with  a  significant  click,  a  tall 
dark-haired  girl  in  a  plain  gingham  dress  slipped 
into  the  room  and  took  her  place  at  the  end  of  the 
line,  at  the  same  moment  casting  a  defiant  glance 
at  the  knot  which  adorned  the  back  of  Mrs. 
Budge's  head. 


THE  FORSYTH  HEIR  73 

Above  the  low  murmur  of  voices  came  the  throb 
of  a  motor. 

"It's  him !"  cried  Harkness,  a  catch  in  his  voice. 
Mrs.  Budge  shut  her  eyes  tight  from  sheer  nervous- 
ness. There  was  a  visible  straightening  and  a  rus- 
tling of  the  line.  Then  Harkness  threw  the  door  open 
and  bent  low. 

On  the  threshold  stood  a  small  girl;  her  eyes, 
under  the  fringe  of  red  hair,  wide  with  excitement, 
frightened. 

Harkness  had  opened  his  lips  for  his  little  speech 
of  welcome  but  the  first  sound  died  with  a  cackle 
in  his  throat,  leaving  his  mouth  agape.  He  stared 
at  the  little  creature  and  beyond  her  at  Cornelius 
Allendyce,  who  was  superintending  the  unloading  of 
several  bags  and  boxes. 

Where  was  Gordon  Forsyth? 

Turning,  Mr.  Allendyce,  at  one  glance,  took  in 
the  situation.  He  bustled  up  the  steps,  and  thrust 
a  bag  in  Harkness'  limp  hand. 

"Well,  we're  here!"  he  cried  cheerily,  ignoring 
the  amazement  and  disappointment  that  fairly  tingled 
in  the  air.  "And  a  fine  welcome  you're  giving  us !" 
He  turned  to  Robin,  who  stood  rooted  to  the  thresh- 
old. "My  dear,  these  people  have  served  the 
Forsyths  faithfully  and  for  a  long  time.  Harkness, 
this  is  Gordon  Forsyth.  Mrs.  Budge — " 

He  drew  aside  to  let  Robin  enter.  And  Robin, 
conscious  of  startled,  curious  eyes  upon  her,  limped 
into  her  new  home.  Harkness,  because  he  had  to 


74  RED-ROBIN 

do  something,  closed  the  door  slowly  behind  her. 

"I'm  sure — we  were  expecting — "  he  mumbled. 

Mr.  Allendyce  imperiously  waved  off  whatever 
Harkness  was  expecting. 

"We  hope,  Mrs.  Budge,  you  are  prepared  for 
two  hungry  people.  We  lunched  very  early  and  the 
ride  here  is  always  tiresome.  In  Madame's  absence, 
I  am  sure  you  will  take  care  of  Miss  Gordon  and 
— me."  There  was  the  finest  inflection  on  the 
"miss."  "I  shall  stay  a  day  or  two.  Robin,  my 
dear,  this  is  your  new  home." 

Robin  had  been  biting  her  lips  to  keep  them 
steady.  There  was  something  so  terrible  in  the  great 
hall,  the  broad  stair  that  lost  itself  in  a  cavern  of 
darkness  above,  the  brilliant  lights,  the  staring  faces. 
Her  eyes  swept  from  Mrs.  Budge's  stony  face  down 
the  line  and  crossed  the  curious  glance  of  the  dark- 
haired  girl  in  the  gingham  dress.  Robin's  bright- 
ened, for  the  girl  was  young,  but  the  girl  flushed  a 
dark  red,  tossed  her  head  and  stalked  through  the 
narrow  service  door  out  of  the  room. 

Robin  turned  to  Cornelius  Allendyce  and  clung 
to  his  arm.  He  seemed  the  one  nice  friendly  thing 
in  the  whole  place.  And,  as  though  he  knew  how  she 
felt,  he  patted  her  hand  in  a  way  that  seemed  to  say, 
"Courage,  my  dear." 

Mrs.  Budge  recovered  her  tongue.  "She'll  not 
be  wanting  the  young  master's  room,"  she  said 
crisply.  "Madame's  orders* — " 


THE  FORSYTH  HEIR  75 

"I  would  suggest  that  Miss  Gordon  decide  for 
herself  what  room  she  will  have."  The  lawyer's 
voice  carried  a  rebuke  that  was  not  lost  upon  the 
housekeeper.  "Harkness,  carry  the  bags  upstairs 
and  Miss  Gordon  and  I  will  follow." 

So  Harkness'  reception  line  broke  up;  the  gar- 
dener and  the  undergardener  and  their  wives  follow- 
ing Mrs.  Budge's  stiff  back  out  through  the  service 
door  while  Harkness  led  Robin  and  her  new  guardian 
up  the  broad  stairway. 

In  the  kitchen,  for  very  want  of  strength,  Mrs. 
Budge  flopped  into  a  chair. 

"Sixes  and  sevens!"  she  gasped.  "I'll  say  that 
things  are  just  going  to  sixes  and  sevens.  I've 
always  distrusted  all  lawyer-men  and  this  one  ain't 
a  bit  different.  Bringing  a  girl  here,  and  a  cripple. 
Did  you  ever  hear  the  like?"  She  looked  from  one 
to  the  other  of  Harkness'  retainers  and  answered 
herself  with  the  same  breath.  "You  never  did. 
Don't  know  when  I've  been  so  flabbergasted.  Mebbe 
she's  a  Forsyth  but  she  ain't  a  worth-while  Forsyth. 
She  ain't.  As  if  a  girl  could  step  into  our  boy's 
shoes."  She  sniffed  audibly.  "She  don't  take  in 
Hannah  Budge." 

When  Harkness  appeared  there  was  a  fresh  out- 
burst and  a  reiteration  that  Hannah  Budge  "wasn't 
going  to  be  taken  in  by  a  piece  no  bigger'n  a  pint 
of  cider." 


76  RED-ROBIN 

"Well,  the  girl's  here — and  hungry,"  Harkness 
retorted  with  meaning  abruptness. 

A  sense  of  duty  never  failed  to  spur  poor  Budge. 
She  rose,  now,  quickly.  ''Humph,  like  as  not  with 
everything  else  going  to  sixes  and  sevens  that  old 
Chloe's  forgot  her  turkey,"  and  with  a  heavy  sigh 
that  fairly  rattled  the  stiff  silk  on  her  bosom  she 
went  off  in  search  of  the  cook. 

Robin  found  much  difficulty  in  choosing  her  room 
for  they  all  seemed  equally  lovely  in  the  perfection 
of  their  furnishings.  She  had  stood  for  a  moment 
in  the  door  of  the  south  room  that  had  been  Christo- 
pher the  Third's.  "Here's  where  they'd  have  put 
you  if  you  were  a  boy,"  her  new  guardian  had  told 
her.  In  spite  of  Mrs.  Budge's  efforts  at  cleaning 
and  dusting,  a  melancholy  hung  over  the  room  and 
about  all  the  boyish  things  there  was  such  a  sense 
of  waiting  that  Robin  was  glad  to  turn  away.  Finally 
she  decided  upon  a  west  room  the  windows  of  which 
overlooked  the  valley  and  the  hills  beyond. 

"Oh,  wouldn't  Jimmie  love  that?"  she  had  cried, 
lingering  in  one  of  the  windows.  "He  loves  hills, 
and  doesn't  that  river  look  like  a  silver  ribbon  tying 
the  brown  fields?" 

The  bedroom  opened  on  one  side  into  a  sitting 
room  with  a  bay  window,  on  the  other  into  a  tiny 
bathroom,  shining  and  gleaming  with  nickel  and  tile. 

"Oh,  everything's  lovely,"  and  Robin  ecstatically 
clasped  her  hands.  "Only  what'll  I  ever  do  with 
everything  so  big!" 


THE  FORSYTH  HEIR  77 

Cornelius  Allendyce  laughed  at  her  dismay.  To 
be  sure  he  had  not  spent  his  life  in  such  tiny  quarters 
as  the  bird  cage  and  he  could  not  understand  the 
girl's  state  of  mind. 

"My  dear,  after  a  little  everything  will  seem 
quite  natural.  And  remember — everything  is  at  your 
command.  This  is  your  home.  You  are  Gordon 
Forsyth.  You  will  not  have  time  to  be  lonely." 

Robin's  serious  face  suddenly  broke  into  a  bright 
smile.  She  patted  the  garland  of  roses  which  held 
back  the  silk  hangings. 

"I  just  had  the  funniest  feeling,  as  if  I  were  not 
me  at  all  but  all  of  a  sudden  someone  else.  Ever 
since  I  was  a  very  little  girl  I've  often  played  that 
I  lived  a  make-believe  story — I  make  it  like  all  the 
fairy  stories  jumbled  together.  And  I  fit  all  the 
people  I  know  into  the  different  characters.  Jimmie 
lets  me  play  it  because  I  am  alone  so  much  and  it 
keeps  me  happy.  Sometimes  he  even  plays  it  with 
me.  It  makes  horrid  things  seem  nice.  And 
Jimmie  never  wanted  me  to  know  the  boys  and  girls 
at  school — because  I'm  lame,  I  guess — so  I  always 
pretended  things  about  them  and  gave  them  names. 
You  should  have  seen  Bluebeard."  She  laughed  at 
the  recollection.  "And  now  I'm  going  on  playing. 
I'm  the  little  beggar-maid  who  awakens  to  find  her 
self  in  the  castle.  Do  you  suppose  there's  a  fairy 
godmother  somewhere?  And — a  prince?" 

And  Cornelius  Allendyce  who  had  never  read  a 


78  RED-ROBIN 

fairy  story  in  his  life,  let  alone  acted  one,  laughed 

with  her. 

"Yes,  this  is  another  chapter  in  your  story." 
"Oh,  and  don't  you  wish  we  could  just  peek 

to  the  end  and  see  how  it  all  turns  out?     But  that 

isn't  fair.     And  we  couldn't — anyway." 

Her  new  guardian  shook  his  head.     "No,  we 

couldn't — anyway. ' ' 


' 


CHAPTER  VII 

BERYL 

A  BELL  tinkling  somewhere  in  the  house  wakened 
Robin  the  next  morning.  Through  the  flowered 
chintz  curtains  of  her  window  the  sun  shone  with  a 
warmth  out  of  all  keeping  with  the  time  of  the 
year,  throwing  such  a  joyous  glow  about  everything 
in  the  room  that  she  rubbed  her  eyes  to  be  sure 
she  was  not  dreaming. 

The  evening  before,  everything  had  seemed  so 
strange  that  Robin  had  not  been  able  to  take  in  small 
things;  now  an  immense  cuqosity  to  explore  Gray 
Manor,  and  the  grounds  that  were  like  Central  Park, 
and  the  little  town,  and  the  hills  around  it,  seized  her. 
She  slipped  her  feet  out  of  bed  and  into  the  satin 
slippers  which  had  been  one  of  Miss  Effie's  purchases. 
She  dressed  with  feverish  haste,  rebuking  herself  for 
having  slept  so  late,  for  her  new  wrist  watch  told 
her  it  was  after  ten  o'clock. 

Ten  o'clock — why,  on  Patchin  Place  the  morning 
was  almost  over  at  that  hour,  the  streets  about  thun- 
dering with  the  work  of  the  day.  And  here  it  was 
as  still  as  night,  or  as — a  church  on  a  weekday, 
Robin  thought. 

Dressed,  she  opened  the  door  of  her  room  very 

quietly  and  peeped  curiously  out.     And  there  in  the 

79 


So  RED-ROBIN 

wide  hall,  dusting  an  old  highboy,  was  the  girl  with 
the  dark  hair. 

"Hullo!"  exclaimed  Robin,  delighted  at  the 
encounter. 

The  girl  stared  for  a  moment.  She  was  tall  and 
thin ;  her  eyes  so  intensely  blue  as  to  look  black  and 
startling  in  their  contrast  to  the  whiteness  of  her 
skin.  They  were  brooding,  smoldering  eyes  and  a 
too  frequent  scowl  was  making  tiny  lines  between 
the  straight  black  eyebrows. 

"Isn't  this  the  wonderfulest  morning?"  Robin  ad- 
vanced, stepping  nearer.  "What  is  your  name? 
I'm  Robin — I  mean  Gordon  Forsyth." 

"I  know  that.  My  name's  Beryl  but  I  guess  it 
doesn't  make  much  difference  to  you  what  I'm  called. 
The  man  who  came  with  you's  waiting  downstairs." 

In  spite  of  this  rebuff  Robin  lingered  for  a 
moment,  hopeful  of  a  pleasanter  word.  But  the 
girl  Beryl  shouldered  her  duster  and  marched  off, 
head  high. 

"I'm  going  to  find  out  more  about  her  right  off," 
determined  Robin  as  she  went  in  search  of  her 
guardian. 

The  big  rooms  below,  like  her  own  room,  looked 
very  different  in  the  morning  light,  even  cheery. 
Mr.  Allendyce  greeted  her  with  a  smile  and  Harkness' 
"Good-morning,  Miss  Gordon,"  had  pleasant  warmth. 
It  was  fun  to  sit  in  the  high-backed  chair  before 
the  shining  silver  and  the  flowers  and  to  choose 


BERYL  81 

between  grapefruit  and  frosted  orange  juice.  So 
fascinated  was  Robin  that  she  forgot  for  the  time, 
her  interest  in  the  girl  she  had  encountered  upstairs. 

"Well,  what  do  you  think  of  Gray  Manor  in 
daylight?"  asked  Mr.  Allendyce  as  the  two  walked 
into  the  library. 

"Oh,  it's  more  like  a  great  castle  than  ever.  But 
it  isn't — half  as  bad  as  I  thought  it  was."  When 
Robin  caught  the  amused  twinkle  in  her  guardian's 
eye  she  added  hastily :  "I  mean,  it  isn't  gloomy  and 
sad  at  all.  It's  so  beautiful — and  I  love  beauti- 
ful things." 

Mr.  Allendyce  thought  suddenly  that  it  was  the 
first  time  for  a  long  time  he  had  seen  these  rooms 
when  they  had  not  seemed  overhung  with  melan- 
choly. But  he  checked  any  expression  of  the 
thought;  instead  he  took  Robin  on  a  tour  through 
the  library  and  drawing  rooms,  pointing  out  to  her 
the  treasures  which  had  been  brought  from  every 
corner  of  the  world.  There  were  rare  tapestries 
and  bronzes,  and  tiny  ivory  carvings  and  tables  inlaid 
with  bright  jade  and  old  crystal  candelabra,  and 
quaint  chests  and  wonderful  paintings  and  rare  old 
books.  As  he  told  the  story  of  each,  Cornelius 
Allendyce  marvelled  at  the  girl's  quick  appreciation 
and  intelligent  interest.  Her  Jimmie  had  evidently 
gathered  travelled  people  about  him  and  Robin  had 
been  always  a  sharp  listener. 

Then  Harkness  interrupted  their  pleasant  occu- 
6 


82  RED-ROBIN 

pation  by  appealing  to  Robin  for  "his  orders"  with 
such  a  comical  solemnity  that  Robin  had  difficulty 
suppressing  a  nervous  giggle.  Her  guardian  came 
to  her  rescue  with  the  suggestion  that  they  drive 
about  the  town  and  the  mills,  have  an  early  tea 
and  an  early  dinner  and  dispense  with  luncheon. 

"Must  I  tell  him  every  day  just  what  I  want?" 
thought  Robin,  in  dismay. 

The  girl's  active  imagination  could  well  picture 
the  imposing  motor  which  came  to  the  door  as  a 
coach-and-four,  resplendent  with  regal  trappings. 
And,  cuddled  in  the  wolf -skin  robes,  flying  over  the 
frosty  roads  which  wound  through  the  hills,  it  was 
very  easy  to  feel  like  a  princess  from  one  of  her 
own  stories. 

Only  the  mills  spoiled  her  lovely  day.  The  even- 
ing before  they  had  loomed  obscurely  and  interest- 
ingly but  in  broad  daylight  they  were  ugly.  The 
great  chimneys  belched  black  smoke  into  the  beauti- 
ful blue  of  the  sky;  the  monotonous  drone  of  many 
machines  jarred  the  hillside  quiet.  Everything  was 
so  dusty  and  dirty — even  the  tiny  houses  where  the 
men  lived.  Robin,  brought  up  though  she  had  been 
in  Patchin  Place,  turned  in  disgust  from  the  dreary 
ugliness  about  her. 

"Does  it  have  to  be  like  that?"  she  asked  her 
guardian. 

"Like  what?" 

"Oh — dirty.     And  so  dreary.     And  noisy." 


BERYL  83 

Her  guardian  laughed.  "  I'm  afraid  it  does. 
Work  is  mostly  always  drab — like  that.  And  yon 
see  it  has  grown  like  a  giant.  There — there's  the 
giant  for  your  fairy  story,  my  dear.  And  giants 
are  usually  ugly,  aren't  they?" 

"Yes,  always."  Robin  spoke  with  conviction. 
As  they  rode  on  she  looked  back  over  her  shoulder. 
"I'm  glad  we  can't  stop  today.  This  ride  has  been 
so  lovely  that  I'd  hate  to  spoil  it  by — seeing  the 
Giant  up  close." 

"Giants  are  very  powerful.  And  usually  very 
rich."  Cornelius  Allendyce  enjoyed  the  fancy. 

"Yes — and  they  crush  and  kill,  too." 

"But  didn't  a  Jack  climb  something  or  other  and 
overcome  one  of  them  in  his  lair?" 

At  this  Robin  laughed  and  then  forgot,  for  the 
time  being,  the  mills  and  the  dirty  houses ;  when  Mr. 
Allendyce  hoped  Mrs.  Budge  would  give  them  a 
very  big  tea  party,  she  realized  she  was  hungrier 
than  she  had  ever  been  before. 

So  full  had  been  each  moment  of  her  first  day 
at  Gray  Manor  that  it  was  not  until  she  sat  curled  in 
the  big  divan  before  the  library  fire,  a  book  of  colored 
plates  of  Italian  gardens  across  her  lap  that  she 
thought  of  her  determination  to  know  more  of  the 
girl  who  had  called  herself  Beryl. 

Harkness  stood  at  the  long  table  putting  it  in 
order.  Harkness  seemed  always  moving  things 


84  RED-ROBIN 

about  just  so  as  to  put  them  back  in  place  again 

"Mr.  Harkness." 

"Yes,  Miss  Gordon." 

"Do  I  know  everybody  here?" 

"Why. — I'm  sure — What  do  you  mean,  Miss 
Gordon?" 

"I  saw  a  young  girl  last  night.  And  I  met  her 
in  the  hall  today.  Who's  she?" 

"That's  a  person  from  the  village,  Miss  Gordon. 
I  don't  know  as  I've  heard  her  name.  Budge  mostly 
calls  her  a  piece.  I  don't  think  Budge  is  satisfied 
with  her." 

"You  mean  she  works  here?" 

"Yes,  Miss  Gordon.  At  least  now.  She  helps 
Budge.  Budge  is  getting  on,  you  see.  I  don't  know 
as  I've  heard  the  miss'  name.  Is  there  anything 
more,  Miss  Gordon?" 

Harkness  had  a  warm  heart  under  his  faded 
livery  and  it  went  out  now  to  Robin  because  she 
looked  very  small  and  very  much  alone  in  the  big 
room.  He  had  heard  Mrs.  Budge's  hostile  sputter 
and  he  knew  the  lawyer  man  was  going  the  next 
day;  little  Miss  Gordon  would  be  quite  without 
friends  at  Gray  Manor.  So  he  stepped  closer  to  the 
divan  and  in  a  very  human,  friendly  way  he  added : 
"Excuse  me  if  I'm  so  bold  as  to  say,  you  just  count 
on  old  Harkness  if  you  want  anything,  missy." 

Robin  caught  the  kindliness  in  the  man's  voice. 
"Oh,  thank  you,  Mr.  Harkness.  I'll  be  so  glad  to 


BERYL  85 

have  you  for  a  friend.  And  won't  you  please  call 
me  Robin?  You  see  everyone  who's  ever  liked  me 
real  well  called  me  that  and  it'll  make  me  feel 
fcomey  here." 

"Well,  just  between  us,  Miss — Robin."  And  the 
old  man  went  off  with  a  mysterious  smile  that  even 
Budge's  sour  face  could  not  dispel. 

The  house  was  very  still.  Mr.  Allendyce  was  in 
his  room  writing  some  letters.  The  early  dinner 
had  been  over  for  sometime.  Robin  wondered  what 
Beryl  was  doing  now  and  where  she  was — probably 
upstairs  somewhere. 

'Til  go  and  find  her!" 

This  was  more  easily  said  than  done  for  Gray 
Manor  had  wiggly  wings  and  corridors  turning  in 
every  direction  and  little  stairs  here  and  there  so  that 
one  first  went  up  and  then  down  and  then  up  again. 
Robin  had  almost  given  up  her  search  and  had  just 
about  decided  she  was  lost,  for  turn  whichever  way 
she  might,  nothing  seemed  familiar,  when  she  heard 
the  harsh,  scraping  strains  of  a  violin,  vibrant  with 
stormy  feeling. 

"I'll  find  that  and  then  maybe  it'll  be  someone 
who  can  tell  me  how  to  get  back  to  the  library,"  she 
thought,  laughing  silently  at  the  ridiculousness  of 
being  lost  in  a  house,  anyway. 

She  traced  the  music  to  a  turning  which  led 
into  a  narrow  hallway.  At  its  end  a  door  stood 
ajar  and  from  it  a  light  streamed.  Robin  approached 


86  RED-ROBIN 

the  door  on  tip  toe  that  she  might  not  disturb  the 
music,  then  stood  still  on  its  threshold  in  delighted 
amazement  for  the  violin  player  was  the  girl  for 
whom  she  was  seeking. 

At  sight  of  Robin  the  girl  flung  the  violin  upon 
the  bed. 

"Oh,  please  don't  stop.  May  I  come  in?  I  was 
hunting  for  you." 

It  was  an  absurdly  small  room  as  compared  to  the 
great  rooms  below,  and  very  bare.  There  was  one 
chair  which  Beryl,  scowling,  pushed  forward,  at  the 
same  time  sitting  upon  the  bed.  Her  eyes  said 
plainly:  "What  do  you  want?" 

Robin  ignored  her  unfriendliness.  She  sat  down 
on  the  edge  of  the  bed,  close  to  Beryl. 

"I'm  awfully  glad  I  found  you,"  she  ventured. 
"You  see  you're  the  only  other  young  person  in  this 
house.  Though  I  never  had  any  chums  like  most 
girls  do,  Jimmie  always  seemed  young  and  the  birds 
and  the  flowers  and  the  Farri  children  made  it — " 
Robin  stopped  suddenly  for  Beryl  was  staring  at  her 
with  rude  amusement.  "I — I  thought  it  would  be  so 
nice  if  you — and  I — could  be — sort  of  chums,"  she 
managed  to  finish. 

Beryl  tossed  her  head  as  she  moved  away,  shut- 
ting the  violin  in  its  case  with  an  angry  little  slam. 

"I  guess  it  would  be  sort  of,"  she  mocked. 

"What  do  you  mean?"  Poor  Robin's  heart  beat 
furiously;  it  had  taken  all  the  courage  she  could 


BERYL  87 

muster  to  force  her  advance  upon  this  girl  and 
Beryl's  rebuff  hurt  her  deeply.  She  flushed  at 
Beryl's  scornful  laugh. 

"Why — we're  as  far  apart  as  the  poles,"  Beryl 
answered.  "You're — Gordon  Forsyth.  And  I'm 
just  Beryl  Lynch." 

Robin's  eyes  were  like  a  baby's  in  their  lack  of 
understanding. 

"I  don't  see — "  she  began  but  Beryl  would  not 
let  her  go  on.  Beryl's  whole  soul  went  out  in  resent- 
ment at  what  she  suspected  was  "patronizing."  "Not 
me!"  she  cried  in  her  heart.  And  aloud:  "Oh,  you 
just  say  you  can't  see.  Why  I'm  like  a  servant 
here.  Though  I  won't  be  that  way  long  with  that  old 
crank  as  uncivil  as  she  is.  Mother  didn't  want  me 
to  do  it.  But  I  wanted  the  money.  And  I'm  going 
to  stick  it  out,  much  as  I  hate  it — " 

Robin  watched  the  other  girl's  stormy  face  in 
an  ecstasy  of  delight.  Here  was  a  creature  different 
from  anyone  she  had  ever  known;  almost  her  own 
age,  too,  full  of  the  fire  and  spirit  and  daring  which 
she  longed  to  possess  and  knew  she  did  not ;  beauti- 
fully straight  and  tall. 

"I  asked  old  Budge  for  the  place.  I  heard  she 
•wanted  someone  to  help  her  and  it  was  work  anyone 
could  do.  Mother  felt  dreadfully. — she  said  I'd  hate 
it.  I  don't  mind  the  work  but  I  hate — oh,  feeling 
I'm  not  as  good  as  anyone  here.  When  Mrs.  Budge 
told  me  to  put  on  a  clean  uniform — ugh,  how  I  hate 


88  RED-ROBIN 

those  uniforms — and  go  down  to  the  hall  to  meet 
you,  I  told  her  I  wouldn't.  She  'most  sent  me  off 
then  and  there." 

"You  did  go,  though.  I  saw  you,"  Robin 
broke  in. 

"Oh,  yes,  I  went  but  I  wouldn't  change  my  dress 
just  to  spite  her.  And  I  was  curious  to  see  the  boy 
they  were  all  making  such  a  fuss  about.  You  just 
ought  to  know  how  upset  they  were  when  you  came ! 
Why,  old  Budge  talked  as  though  it  were  a  disgrace 
for  a  Forsyth  to  be  a  girl.  I  was  glad — because  it 
fooled  her."  Beryl  realized  suddenly  that  she  was 
growing  friendily  confidential.  She  sharpened  her 
tone.  "You'd  better  go  down  before  the  old  snoop 
catches  you  here." 

"I  wish  you  wouldn't  talk  like  that,"  pleaded 
Robin. 

"Like  what?" 

"Oh,  as  though  we  weren't — well  just  girls  alike 
and  couldn't  be  friends.  We  might  have  such 
good  times — " 

"You  are  a  funny  little  kid,  aren't  you?  And 
you  certainly  don't  know  how  things  are  run  in  stiff 
houses  like  this.  If  old  Budge  could  hear  you! 
I  don't  mind  telling  you  that  the  old  cat  keeps  saying 
she's  going  to  watch  you  to  see  if  you  act  like  a 
Forsyth.  So  you'd  better  not  let  her  hear  you  ask- 
ing to  be  friends  with  me." 

Robin  slowly  rose  to  her  feet,  two  bright  s[)ote 
of  color  fTaming  in  her  cheeks. 


BERYL  89 

"Why,  I'll — "  Her  anger  died  suddenly  and  a 
quaint  little  dignity  fell  upon  her.  She  straightened 
her  slender  figure  and  held  her  head  very  high. 
"I  am  a  Forsyth  and  I  shall  act  just  as  I  think  a 
good  Forsyth  should  and  not  as  Mrs.  Budge  thinks. 
And  please  don't  think  I'm  the  least  bit  afraid  of 
this  Mrs.  Budge." 

Beryl  laughed  so  gleefully  at  Robin's  defiance 
that  Robin  joined  in  with  her  and  the  friendship  for 
•which  she  sought  sprang  into  being — all  because  of 
an  unspoken  alliance  against  the  hostile  housekeeper. 

"I'll  go  back  now — if  you'll  show  me  the  way." 

"They  ought  to  have  signs  at  every  turning." 

"Oh,  what  a  funny  thought!"  And  giggling, 
the  two  tiptoed  through  the  winding  corridors  and 
down  the  stairs  which  led  to  the  second  floor. 

"I'll  see  you  tomorrow,"  whispered  Robin  at 
parting. 

"It  won't  do — you'll  see  it  won't  do!"  warned 
Beryl.  "I  haven't  been  in  this  house  two  whole 
clays  without  knowing  what  it's  like!" 


CHAPTER  VIII 

ROBIN   ASSERTS   HERSELF 

THE  coming  of  Percival  Tubbs  to  Gray  Manor 
added  the  one  sweet  drop  to  poor  Mrs.  Budge's  cup 
of  bitterness.  Though  he  brought  vividly  back 
heartbreaking  memories  of  young  Chistopher  the 
Third's  school  days,  when  she  had  waited  each  day 
for  the  lad's  boisterous  charge  upon  the  kitchen  after 
the  "bite"  which  was  his  and  her  little  secret,  she 
hoped  to  find  in  him  an  ally.  He  would  see  how 
ridiculous  it  was  to  have  a  Forsyth  girl,  anyway,  and 
especially  a  girl  who  limped  around  the  house  like 
a  scared  rabbit,  afraid  to  ask  for  a  crumb.  If  this 
Gordon  had  been  a  boy,  as  they  had  planned,  an- 
other comely,  happy  youth,  why,  she  could  have  soon 
learned  to  love  him.  But  a  girl — how  would  she 
look  sitting  at  Master  Christopher's  desk,  in  his 
chair!  Something  was  all  wrong  somewhere,  but 
Percival  Tubbs  would  find  out  and  say  what's  what. 

With  this  hope  strong  in  her  breast  she  made 
excuse  to  go  into  the  Chinese  room,  for  the  Chinese 
room  was  only  separated  from  the  library  by  heavy 
curtains  through  which  voices  could  be  easily  over- 
heard. And  Harkness  had  said  the  lawyer  and  the 
tutor  were  talking  in  the  library. 

Robin's  guardian  had  given  much  thought  to  this 
interview  with  the  tutor.  Robin's  fate  worried  him 
90 


ROBIN  ASSERTS  HERSELF  91 

not  a  little.  He  had,  in  the  few  days,  grown  very 
fond  of  Robin,  and  he  hated  to  leave  her  with 
Harkness  and  Budge  and  this  Percival  Tubbs,  a 
poor  sort  of  companionship  where  a  fifteen-year-old 
girl's  happiness  was  concerned. 

"I  must  make  Tubbs  see  that  the  child  is  differ- 
ent— "  he  was  thinking  just  as  Mrs.  Budge  tiptoed 
into  the  Chinese  room. 

"Miss  Gordon  is  not  like  other  children  and 
you"ll  have  to  plan  your  school  work  a  little  differ- 
ently with  her,"  he  began,  speaking  slowly.  "She's 
bright  enough  and  knows  much  more  about  some 
things  than  most  girls  her  age — and  nothing  at  all 
about  others.  What  I  want  you  to  do  is  to  go  easy ; 
easy,  that's  it.  I  rather  imagine  she's  always  taken 
a  lot  on  her  own  shoulders  and  I  don't  believe  she's 
ever  thought  much  of  herself.  If  you  can  develope 
a  little  assertiveness  in  her — she'll  need  it,  here — " 

"Yes.  She'll  need  it  here,"  echoed  the  tutor,  be- 
cause he  thought  he  ought  to  say  something.  He 
was  a  tall,  lanky  man  whose  shoulders  sagged  as 
though  something  about  them  had  broken  under  the 
strain  of  being  dignified ;  his  face  narrowed  from  an 
impressive  dome  of  a  forehead  to  a  straggling  Van 
Dyke  beard  which  he  always  stroked  with  the  fingers 
of  his  left  hand.  He  was  the  old  type  of  school- 
master whom  the  rapid  forward  stride  of  education 
had  left  far  behind.  His  summons  to  Gray  Manor 
had  come  rather  in  the  way  of  a  life-saver  and  he  did 


92  RED-ROBIN 

not  intend  to  allow  the  fact  that  the  Forsyth  heir 
had  turned  out  to  be  a  girl,  perturb  him  in  the  least. 
And  so  long  as  his  rooms  at  the  Manor  were  com- 
fortable, his  food  good  and  his  salary  certain,  he 
could  adapt  himself  to  any  fool  theory  this  lawyer 
guardian  might  care  to  advance. 

Mr.  Allendyce  stared  hard  at  the  other,  his  face 
wrinkled  in  his  effort  to  say  the  right  thing. 

"Oh,  let  her  have  her  head,"  he  finished  finally. 
And  he  liked  that  idea  so  well  that  he  repeated  it. 
"Let  her  have  her  head.  Do  you  understand  me? 
Never  mind  what's  in  the  old  schoolbooks.  If  she'd 
rather  take  a  walk  than  study  Latin  verbs,  well,  let 
her.  I  want  her  to  be  happy  here — happy,  that's 
most  important.  You've  heard  of  flowers  that 
bloom  only  in  shelter  and  sunshine?  This  young- 
ster isn't  unlike — " 

"Well,  I  never!  No,  I  never! .  .1  never!"  Mrs. 
Budge's  gasp,  rising  in  a  crescendo,  almost  betrayed 
her  presence.  She  gave  a  pillow  a  mighty  jab.  As 
though  it  were  not  bad  enough  to  bring  the  girl 
to  the  house  in  the  first  place  without  paying  a  man 
a  fancy  price  to  teach  her  to  have  her  own  way! 
"Flowers!  Humph!  Old  fools— -"  Unable  to  en- 
dure another  word  in  silence  she  stalked  off  to  her 
own  quarters. 

In  the  butler's  pantry  she  found  Beryl  arranging 
real  flowers  in  a  squatty  Bristol  glass  bowl  and  hum- 
ming gaily  as  she  did  so.  Now  Beryl  should  have 
been  upstairs  marking  the  new  linen  and  she  should 


ROBIN  ASSERTS  HERSELF  93 

not  be  singing  as  though  she  owned  the  whole  world. 
These  two  transgressions  and  the  sight  of  the  bright 
blossoms  in  the  girl's  hand  brought  the  climax  to 
the  old  woman's  wrath.  All  Beryl's  shortcomings 
tumbled  off  her  tongue  in  an  incoherent  flow  of  ill- 
temper.  A  stormy  scene  resulted  which  left  the  old 
housekeeper  spent  and  Beryl  blazing  with  indignation. 

Consequently,  when  poor  Robin,  depressed  from 
her  first  hour  with  the  tutor,  trying  not  to  feel  that 
Gray  Manor  was  going  to  be  a  prison  instead  of 
a  castle,  sought  out  her  new  friend  she  found  her 
throwing  her  few  possessions  into  a  cheap  suitcase 
that  lay,  opened,  across  her  narrow  bed. 

"Oh,  what  are  you  doing?"  cried  Robin  in  alarm. 

"I'm  going — that's  what.     She  fired  me." 

Robin's  first  thought  upon  awaking  that  morning 
had  been  of  Beryl;  she  had  suffered  the  keenest  im- 
patience all  through  the  trying  morning,  longing 
to  go  in  search  of  her  new  friend.  She  could  not 
lose  her  now — for  a  hundred  Budges. 

"Oh,  I  won't  let  you  go !" 

"  A  lot  you  could  do!"  cried  Beryl  scornfully, 
tears  very  close.  "I  just  can't  please  the  old  thing. 
But  I  hate  to  go  home."  She  sat  down,  dolefully, 
on  the  edge  of  the  bed.  "I  wanted  to  stay  until 
I  had  earned  two  hundred  dollars." 

Two  hundred  dollars !  That  seemed  such  a  very 
big  amount  of  money  to  Robin  that  she  sat  silent, 
thinking  about  it. 

Beryl,  misinterpreting  her  quiet,  tossed  her  head. 


94  RED-ROBIN 

"I  s'pose  that  doesn't  mean  much  to  you.  But  it 
does  to  me — 'specially  when  I  have  to  earn  it." 
Then,  with  a  flash  of  temper :  "What  do  you  know 
about  wanting  some  one  thing  with  all  your  whole 
heart  and  knowing  just  where  you  can  get  it  and 
not  having  the  money?" 

Beryl  made  her  tragedy  very  real  and  pouring  out 
her  troubles  always  brought  her  a  grain  of  comfort. 

"I've  never  had  a  thing  in  my  life  that  I  wanted,'* 
she  finished. 

"Oh,  Beryl,  I'm  so  sorry." 

"Sorry!  Why,  a  lucky  little  thing  like  you  are 
can't  even  know  what  I'm  talking  about.  That's 
why  I  said  we  couldn't  be  friends.  I've  had  to  wrork 
at  home  like  a  slave  ever  since  I  can  remember. 
Pop's  sick  all  the  time  and  cross,  and  poor  mother 
looks  so  tired  and  tries  to  be  so  cheerful  and  brave 
that  your  heart  aches  for  her.  And  even  when  you're 
poor,  a  girl  wants  things,  pretty  things  and  to  do 
things  like  other  girls — and  work  as  hard  as  you  can 
you  can't  ever  seem  to  reach  them.  I  get  just  sick 
of  it.  I  thought — if  I  could  get  this  money — " 

"Did  you  want  it  for  your  mother?"  broke  in 
Robin,  sympathetically. 

Beryl's  face  flushed  redder.  "Well,  not  exactly. 
That's  the  way  it  always  is  in  books,  but  in  life,  when 
you're  poor,  it's  each  fellow  for  himself  and  there's 
not  any  time  for  your  grand  sounding  self-sacrifice. 
I  wanted  it  to  buy  a  violin.  That  thing  I've  got's 


ROBIN  ASSERTS  HERSELF  95 

nothing  but  a  cheap  old  fiddle.  And  I  can  play — I 
know  I  can  play,  or  could  if  I  could  get  a  good  violin. 
I  took  lessons  from  an  old  Belgian  who  lived  above 
us  and  I  played  once  for  Martini  at  the  theatre  and 
he  said — but  what's  the  use  of  caring?  What's  the 
use  of  thinking  about  it?  All  a  girl  like  me  can 
do  is  just  want  big  things!" 

"Oh,  Beryl,"  breathed  Robin,  a  tremble  on  her 
lips.  She  wanted  very  much  to  make  Beryl  under- 
stand that  she  was  not  the  "lucky  thing"  Beryl 
thought  her ;  that  she  knew,  too,  what  it  was  to  want 
something  and  not  to  have  it,  though  perhaps  she 
had  not  known  it  as  cruelly  as  Beryl  had,  for  Jimmie 
had  always  contrived  to  cover  their  bleak  moments 
with  a  makeshift  contentment.  "Oh,  Beryl,  honestly 
I  know  just  how  you  feel.  I  wish  I  could  help  you. 
Maybe  I  can.  My  allowance  seems  awfully  big  and 
I  can't  ever  spend  it  all — " 

"Well,  I'm  not  a  beggar  and  I'm  not  hinting  for 
your  money"  flared  Beryl. 

"I  didn't  mean — "  Robin  began,  then  faltered. 
Beryl  had  spoken  with  such  real  anger  that  she 
was  frightened.  Beryl,  turning  back  to  her  packing, 
gathered  up  an  armful  of  clothing  on  top  of  which 
lay  an  oblong  bundle.  Its  wrappings  were  old  and 
loose  so  that  as  Beryl  flounced  her  burden  tow?  fd  the 
suitcase,  the  content  of  the  package  slipped  out  and 
down  to  the  floor.  Robin  stared  in  amazement  for 
there  lay  a  doll  in  faded  satin  finery. 


o6  RED-ROBIN 

With  a  short,  ashamed  laugh,  Beryl  picked  it  up. 
"That  old  thing,"  she  exclaimed,  in  half-apology. 

Robin  caught  her  arm.  "Wait — oh,  wait — let 
me  see  it!" 

"It's  just  an  old  doll  I've  kept." 

"It — it  looks  like  my  Cynthia.  Oh,  please  just 
let  me  look  at  it.  It's  like  a  doll — I  lost,  once,  ever 
so  long  ago."  She  examined  the  pretty  clothing. 

Now  Beryl  stared  at  Robin  as  though  to  find  in 
her  face  a  likeness  to  the  little  girl  who  had  deserted 
her  doll. 

"Lost?  And  I  found  it  in  Sheridan  Square. 
A  little  girl  went  off  and  left  it.  I  waited  awhile, 
then  I  took  the  doll  home." 

"Oh,  how  funny!  How  funny!  It  was  me, 
Beryl.  I'd  been  playing  and  Mr.  Tony  called  to 
me  to  hurry  and  I  forgot — and  you  found  it.  Why, 
I  cried  myself  to  sleep  night  after  night  thinking 
poor  Cynthia  was  unhappy  somewhere." 

"And  I  called  her  my  orphan  doll  and  loved  her 
because  I  thought  she  missed  her  real  mother — " 

"She  was  the  loveliest  dolly  I  ever  had!" 

"She  was  the  loveliest  dolly  I  ever  saw !" 

Both  girls  burst  into  a  peal  of  laughter.  They 
sat  on  the  edge  of  the  bed,  the  doll  between  them, 
the  packing  forgotten. 

Robin  clapped  her  hands.  "And  to  think  we  find 
each  other  now.  It's  like  a  story.  I  went  back  to 
the  park  all  alone  that  evening  and  would  have  been 


ROBIN  ASSERTS  HERSELF  97 

iost  if  it  hadn't  been  for  my — "  she  broke  off  short 
and  flushed.  She  was  going  to  tell  Beryl  about  her 
play-prince  but  then,  Beryl  might  laugh  and  she  did 
not  want  that. 

Beryl's  face  suddenly  grew  grave  as  she  smoothed 
out  a  fold  of  the  doll-garment. 

"I  always  kept  the  doll  put  away.  I  never 
played  with  it  because — "  She  hesitated  a  moment. 
"That  night  that  I  found  the  doll  was  a  dreadful 
night.  I  wasn't  quite  six  but  I'll  always  remember 
it.  At  first  mother  and  I  were  so  happy,  over  find- 
ing the  doll  and  because  Pop  had  just  gotten  a  raise. 
It  seemed  as  though  everything  were  going  to  be 
wonderful  and  we  felt  as  rich  as  could  be.  We  called 
the  doll  a  lucky  doll.  And  mother  dressed  me  up 
in  her  green  beads  that  Father  Murphy,  back  in 
Ireland,  had  given  her  when  she  told  him  she  was 
going  to  marry  Pop.  And  we  had  dumplings — » 
ugh,  I've  hated  dumplings  ever  since.  And  then — " 

"What  happened?" 

"They  came  for  Mom,  some  man  from  the  hos- 
pital. Pop  had  been  terribly  hurt.  And,  well — 
nothing's  been  lucky  since.  It's  just  as  I  said; 
mother's  had  to  work  and  Dale's  had  to  work  and 
Pop  just  sits  in  a  chair  and  scolds  and — well,  I 
never  wanted  to  take  the  doll  out  when  mother  could 
see  it — after  all  that." 

Robin  made  no  effort  to  conceal  how  deeply 
Beryl's  story  had  moved  her.  "Oh,  Beryl,  I'm  so 


98  RED-ROBIN 

sorry.  But  maybe  things  will  change.  They'll  have 
to — Jimmie  always  said,  it's  a  long  lane  that  has  no 
turning.  I'm  so  glad  it  was  you  who  found  my 
Cynthia.  It  might  have  been  some  one  who  wouldn't 
have  loved  her  at  all." 

"I  s'pose  you  ought  to  have  her  now." 

"Oh,  no,  no.  She's  yours.  Anyway,  that 
doesn't  matter,"  and  Robin  added  triumphantly,, 
"because  we're  really  truly  friends  now,  no  matter 
what  you  say.  Cynthia  has  brought  us  together." 

Beryl  shook  her  head. 

"That  old  crank — "  she  began. 

Robin  stamped  her  foot  in  impatience.  "I  don't 
care  a  bit  about  Mrs.  Budge.  My  guardian  told  me 
that  I  could  have  anything  I  wanted  here  just  for  the 
asking  and  he's  made  me  the  silliest  big  allowance 
that  three  girls  couldn't  spend.  Oh,  I've  a  plan ! 
Ought  not  a  girl  like  me  have  a  companion?  Don't 
they  most  always  in  books?  You  shall  stay  here 
at  Gray  Manor  as  my — chum." 

Beryl  still  looked  doubtful.     "I'm  too  young — " 

"That's  just  why  I  want  you.  Oh,  I  just  can't 
bear  to  think  of  my  guardian  going  away  and  leaving 
me  here  alone.  You  see  I  promised  myself  that  I'd 
be  happy  while  Jimmie's  having  his  chance — that's 
why  I  came,  you  know.  But  this  house  is  so  big 
and  so  old  and  Mr.  Harkness  and  Mrs.  Budge  are 
so  old  that  I  know  it's  going  to  be  hard  not  to  think 
of  Jimmie  and  our  lovely  home  and  the  birds.  But 


ROBIN  ASSERTS  HERSELF  99 

if  you'd  stay  it  wou*d  be  easier.     Oh,  say  you  will, 
say  you  will." 

Beryl  stared  at  Robin  with  a  suspicious  scrutiny. 
She  firmly  believed  that  rich  people  never  did  any- 
thing except  for  themselves  and  Robin,  no  doubt, 
was  like  all  the  others.  Yet  she  was  such  a  queer 
little  thing  that  perhaps  she  was  trying  to  be  "nice" 
to  her  and  make  a  soft  place  for  her.  And  Beryl 
would  not  allow  that  for  a  moment. 

"You  can  study  with  me,  too.  That  Mr.  Tubbs 
isn't  so  very  bad.  And  we'll  read  together  out  of 
all  those  books  in  the  library.  And  play — I  never 
kad  a  real  chum  because  Jimmie  thought  the  girls 
and  boys  who  went  to  the  school  I  did,  might  make 
fun  of  my  being  lame.  Poor  Jimmie,  he  always 
minded  my  being  lame  much  more  than  I  did  because 
he's  an  artist  and  shivers  when  anything  isn't  perfect. 
You  shall  have  a  bed  in  my  room — there's  ever  so 
much  space.  Oh,  say  you  will." 

Beryl  frowned,  uncertainly.  "I  don't  want  a 
penny  I  don't  earn.  But  if  I  can  really  do  things 
for  you — " 

"Oh,  of  course  you  can,  lots  of  things.  But  you 
shan't  wear  those  uniforms — for  then  you  wouldn't' 
be  a  girl  like  me.  Oh,  we'll  have  stick  fun.  Let's 
take  this  stuff  right  down." 

It  took  the  girls  only  a  very  little  time  to  transfer 
Beryl's  belongings  and  to  establish  them  in  Robin's 
room,  Beryl  working  mechanically,  unable  to  believe 


ioo  RED-ROBIN 

her  good  fortune.  Then,  at  Robin's  command,  she 
followed  her  while  she  went  in  search  of  her  guardian. 

Cornelius  Allendyce  and  Percival  Tubbs,  sitting 
in  a  blue  cloud  of  cigar  smoke,  were  pleasantly  dis- 
cussing the  pros  and  cons  of  the  tariff  question  upon 
which  they  agreed,  when  Robin  interrupted  them. 

"Please  excuse  me,  but  this  is  very  important." 
Her  breathlessness  startled  the  two  men.  "I've  en- 
gaged Beryl  to  be  my  chum.  I — I  thought  I  might 
be  lonely  here  at  Gray  Manor.  I  want  her  to  study 
with  me,  too.  And  do  everything.  This  is  she." 

Cornelius  Allendyce's  mouth  had  dropped  open 
from  sheer  amazement;  suddenly  it  broadened  into 
a  grin.  Here  was  Miss  Gordon  taking  her  "head" 
at  once,  without  so  much  as  one  lesson.  He  glanced 
at  Percival  Tubbs  but  that  good  gentleman  was 
stroking  his  silky  beard  quite  indifferently. 

"I'd  rather  have  Beryl  than  anyone  else,  'cause 
she's  almost  my  own  age  and  we  like  each  other. 
Shall  I  tell  Mrs.  Budge  or—" 

"Without  so  much  as  a  by-your-leave !"  mur- 
mured the  guardian.  He  surveyed  Beryl ;  she  seemed 
like  a  wholesome,  spirited  sort  and  the  idea  of  a  little 
companion  for  Miss  Gordon  was  not  a  bad  one,  not 
at  all — strange  he  hadn't  thought  of  it. 

"Perhaps,  Miss  Gordon,  you'd  better  tell  her 
yourself.  You  must  begin — holding  your  own,  my 
dear.  Don't  forget — ever,  that  you  are  a  Forsyth, 
and  that  name  has  great  power  over  Hannah  Budge." 


ROBIN  ASSERTS  HERSELF          101 

Robin  did  not  stop  to  ponder  what  he  meant  or 
why  a  twinkle  shone  in  his  eyes.  She  rang  the  bell 
as  her  guardian  indicated,  then  waited  with  a  resolute 
squaring  of  her  small  chin,  for  Harkness'  coming. 

"Please,  Mr.  Harkness,  will  you  bring  Mrs. 
Budge  here?  There's  something  I  want  to  tell 
you  both." 

Mrs.  Budge,  as  she  hunted  out  a  clean  apron, 
grumbled  at  the  unusual  summons. 

"The  girl  herself,  you  say?"  she  asked,  as  she 
followed  Harkness  to  the  library. 

Her  astonishment  changed  to  white  wrath  when 
Robin,  standing  by  her  guardian's  chair,  spoke. 

"I  wanted  to  tell  you  that  Beryl  Lynch  is  going 
to  stay  here  as  my  companion.  I'm  going  to  give 
her  half  of  my  room  so  that  I  won't  be  lonely  and 
please  set  a  place  for  her  next  to  me  at  the  table." 

Once  again  Cornelius  Allendyce  caught  the 
twinkle  in  the  butler's  eye  which  should  not  be  in  a 
Forsyth  butler's  eye  at  all.  But  there  was  no  twinkle 
about  Mrs.  Budge ;  her  cheeks  puffed  in  her  effort  to 
speak  without  strangling. 

"If  that  piece — "  she  began,  but  she  was  quickly 
interrupted  from  every  side.  Both  Harkness  and 
Cornelius  Allen4yce  cried  out,  the  one  pleadingly,  the 
other  in  warning:  "Careful,  Mrs.  Budge."  Then 
Robin  stepped  forward  and  slipped  her  hand  through 
Beryl's  arm. 

"Please,  Mrs.  Budge,  I  have  made  Beryl  promise 


102  RED-ROBIN 

to  stay.  She  didn't  want  to  but  I  begged  her.  And 
if  anyone  is  unkind  to  her  it's  just  the  same  as  being 
— unkind  to  me.  That  is  all,"  she  finished  grandly, 
with  an  imperious  little  motion  of  her  hand  that 
waved  the  irate  woman  from  the  room  before  she 
knew  she  was  moving. 

"Now  you  can't  say  as  that  wasn't  like  a  Forsyth," 
asserted  Harkness,  proudly,  belowstairs.  "If  Missy 
wants  a  young  lydy  for  a  companion,  well,  she's  a 
right  to  the  kind  of  young  lydy  she  wants."  But 
Budge  had  escaped  the  reach  of  his  voice. 

In  the  library  Cornelius  Allendyce  was  patting 
Robin  on  the  head. 

"Well,  you've  won  out  in  the  first  skirmish,  my 
dear.  But  keep  your  weapons  at  hand." 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE   LYNCHS 

THE  only  thing  that  made  the  Lynch's  cottage 
any  different  from  the  two  hundred  others  at  the 
mills,  was  that  it  stood  at  the  end  of  a  dreary  row  and 
therefore  had  a  window  on  the  side  of  its  living 
jroom  which  overlooked  the  hills  and  the  river. 

This  window  was  Moira  Lynch's  delight.  Her 
poor,  big  Danny  could  sit  in  it  all  day  long.  And 
from  it  she  herself  could  watch  the  setting  sun  flame 
over  the  crest  of  the  hills  and  the  narrow  river  shake 
off  its  workaday  dress  and  go  racing  into  the  shad- 
ows of  the  woods.  Poor  Moira,  years  of  heart- 
breaking work  and  worry  had  not  changed  her  very 
much  from  the  girl  who  had  liked  to  lie  in  the  deep 
sweet  grass  of  her  dear  Ireland  and  let  her  fancy 
follow  the  winging  birds  into  a  land  of  dreams. 

The  other  window  of  the  tiny  living  room  looked 
out  directly  upon  the  muddy  road,  across  to  the 
freight  tracks. 

It  was  to  this  window  that  Moira  Lynch  ran  now, 
peering  as  far  up  the  road  as  she  could  see. 

"Beryl's  late  today,"  she  said,  with  an  anxious 
note. 

"Well,  what  if  she  is?  Things  don't  run  by 
the  clock,"  Danny  Lynch  answered  testily.  "You're 

always  fussing.     If  it  isn't  the  girl  it's  over  Dale." 

163 


104  RED-ROBIN 

Mrs.  Moira  ignored  the  edge  of  crossness  in  her 
Danny's  voice.  She  went  to  him,  smootlied  the 
spotless  cushion  at  his  back  and  put  a  fresh  magazine 

on  his  table. 

• 

"It's  a  silly,  worryin'  hen  I  am,"  she  laughed. 
(But,  oh,  her  laugh  was  a  tragic  thing,  for  while 
her  lips  curved  in  a  smile  her  eyes  shadowed  at 
their  mockery). 

"But  things  seem  a  bit  different,  today,"  she 
added,  apologetically. 

And  just  as  Danny  Lynch's  retort  of  derision 
died  away  Beryl  burst  upon  them. 

Her  mother  needed  only  to  give  her  one  look  to 
know  that  something  was  different. 

"And  what  is  it,  my  darlin'  ?  It's  that  hungry  I 
was  getting  to  set  my  eyes  on  you.  Two  hours  late 
you  are,  Beryl." 

Beryl  welcomed  this  reproach  as  it  gave  her  an 
opportunity  to  impart  her  good  news  in  an  impres- 
sive way. 

"I  couldn't  get  away  a  minute  sooner.  I've  a 
new  position."  She  was  going  to  say  "job"  but  it 
did  not  seem  fitting. 

"What?  Without  so  much  as  a  word  to  your 
father  and  mother?  And  did  the  likes  of  that  old 
housekeeper  fire  you?" 

Beryl  had  no  intention  of  telling  of  her  igno- 
minious fray  with  Mrs.  Budge. 

"I'm  engaged  to  be  a  companion  to  Gordon 
Forsyth!"  she  answered,  grandly. 


THE  LYNCHS  105 

At  this  Moira  Lynch  dropped  a  spoon  with  ft 
loud  clatter. 

"A  companion  to — that  new  boy  who's  come  to 
the  Manor?" 

Beryl,  recognizing  that  her  story  needed  detailed 
explanation,  slipped  off  her  outer  wraps,  threw  them 
into  a  chair,  kissed  her  father  lightly  on  his  cheek, 
perched  herself  on  the  old  sofa  and  proceeded  to  tell 
the  story  of  Gordon  Forsyth's  coming  to  Gray  Manor 
while  her  mother  listened  with  breathless  interest. 

"And  it's  a  girl  she  is — a  little  lame  girl!" 

"The  queerest  kid  you  ever  saw.  Not  a  bit 
snippy  or  rich  acting.  She  doesn't  get  at  all  excited 
over  her  new  clothes  and  bossing  those  old  fogeys 
around  and  ordering  her  motor  any  minute  she  wants 
it.  She  thinks  the  little  place  she  lived  in  in  New 
York  is  lots  nicer  than  Gray  Manor.  When  you 
look  at  her  you  think  she's  a  baby  and  then  when  she 
talks,  why — she  seems  older  than  I  am!  But  she's 
funny  like  you,  Mom ;  she's  always  pretending  things 
are  different  from  what  they  are  and  giving  them 
names.  She  calls  old  Budge  the  wicked  woman  who 
wanted  to  eat  the  two  children,"  Beryl  giggled. 
"And  she  calls  the  Mills  a  Giant." 

Moira  Lynch's  face  beamed  with  joyous  under- 
standing. Here  was  a  fellow-soul,  "funny"  like 
herself,  Beryl  described  her;  Beryl,  for  whom  black 
was  always  and  invariably  black,  and  a  spade  a  spade. 

"Why,  she  even  wanted  to  come  down  here  with 
me,"  Beryl  finished. 


106  RED-ROBIN 

There  were  so  many  questions  trembling  on 
Moira's  tongue  that,  for  the  moment,  supper  was 
neglected.  Not  long,  however;  the  striking  of  the 
clock  reminded  her  that  in  a  very  few  minutes  Dale 
would  be  home,  hungry.  Her  mission  in  life,  next 
to  tending  her  big  Danny,  was  feeding  her  two 
children.  For  tonight  she  had  made  Beryl's  favorite 
dessert,  a  bread  pudding,  the  eggs  for  which  she 
had  carefully  hoarded  during  several  days'  denial. 
Beryl,  keeping  up  a  running  fire  of  talk,  spread  the 
cloth  on  the  centre  table  and  brought  the  dishes  from 
the  cupboard. 

"By'n  by,  you'll  be  too  fine  for  the  rest  of  us," 
broke  in  big  Danny  upon  their  chatter,  the  usual 
discordant  tone  in  his  voice. 

"Well,  I  guess  it  won't  be  your  fault  if  I  am," 
Beryl  flared.  "Everything  that  I've  gotten  I've  got- 
ten for  myself  and  I  don't  know  of  anyone  ever  trying 
to  help  me." 

Like  a  flash  the  little  mother  was  between  the  two, 
a  soothing  hand  on  the  father's  shoulder. 

"Now  don't  you  two  be  a-spoiling  this  night," 
she  laughed  a  bit  hysterically.  "Of  course  our  girl's 
going  to  be  too  fine  for  anyone,  but  it's  always  a-lov- 
ing  she'll  be  to  her  Dad  and  her  Mommy."  She 
declared  it  with  an  ardent  triumph.  This  mother 
who  had  once  dreamed  things  for  herself  dreamed 
them  now  for  her  boy  and  girl.  From  Beryl's  in- 
fancy she  had  taught  her  to  want  "fine  things. rr 


THE  LYNCHS  107 

And  Beryl  wanted  them  with  all  her  heart  and,  with 
youth's  selfishness,  wanted  them  for  herself,  alone. 

After  her  father's  taunt,  Beryl,  with  sullen  resent- 
ment, locked  her  lips  on  her  other  pleasant  experi- 
ences. Nor  would  she  tell  now  how  Robin  had 
written  to  her  guardian  to  send  down  a  real  violin  for 
her  to  practice  upon,  or  what  fun  it  was  to  study 
with  Mr.  Percival  Tubbs,  whose  ears  were  distract- 
ingly  like  Brussels  sprouts.  And  that  she  learned 
much,  much  faster  than  Robin  did !  Poor  Robin  was 
always  wondering  the  why  of  everything. 

Her  mother  suddenly  exclaimed:  "It's  Father 
Murphy's  beads  you  shall  wear  this  night,  my  girl. 
Didn't  the  good  soul,  God  rest  him,  give  them  with 
his  blessing?  Watch  the  potatoes  while  I  get  them." 

Moira's  beads  had  always  played  a  significant 
part  in  her  life.  They  marked  what  she  called  her 
"blessings."  Without  doubt  the  rare  bright  spots 
in  her  life  shone  like  blessings  for  the  dark  of  their 
background.  Years  ago,  when  her  Danny  had  had 
his  accident  and  her  world  had  seemed  to  turn  upside 
down  until  it  rested,  full-weight,  upon  her  poor 
shoulders,  her  "blessing"  had  been  Miss  Lewis  at  the 
settlement.  Miss  Lewis  had  given  her  work  so  that 
she  could  earn  money  to  feed  her  family ;  Miss  Lewis 
had  sent  the  chair  to  Danny;  Miss  Lewis  had  found 
cheaper  lodgings  and  had  helped  her  make  them 
homelike.  Another  blessing  had  been  Jacques  Henri, 
the  old  Belgian  who  lived  above  them  and  whose 


io8  RED-ROBIN 

violin  had  attracted  Beryl  as  the  magnet  draws  the 
iron.  A  lonely  soul,  he  had  found  sweet  company 
in  the  child  and  had  gladly  helped  the  eager  fingers. 
Later  he  had  come  down  to  supper  with  them  and 
Beryl  had  played  a  "piece"  for  her  Pop,  wearing  the 
beads  in  honor  of  the  occasion.  When  Beryl  had 
graduated  from  the  graded  school  she  had  stood  as 
class  prophet  before  an  assemblage  of  fond  relatives, 
among  them  Dale  and  herself — wearing  the  green 
beads.  Moira  had  wished  Father  Murphy  were 
there  to  see  her  girl. 

She  clasped  them  around  the  girl's  neck  now  with 
fingers  that  trembled  and  eyes  bright  with  the  tears 
which  were  always  close  to  them.  During  the  little 
ceremony  Dale  burst  in  like  a  gust  of  strong, 
sweet  air. 

"Hullo,  everybody!  M'm'm,  something  smells 
good!.  What's  for  tonight,  Mom?  Salt  pork  and 
thick  gravy?  Fried  potatoes?  Good!  Hullo,  Sis. 
How  goes  it,  Pop?"  His  greeting  embraced  every- 
thing and  everyone  in  a  rush,  from  the  savory  supper 
to  the  invalid  father  whose  face  had  brightened  at 
his  coming. 

"What're  you  getting  all  dolled  up  for,  Sis?" 

Beryl  and  her  mother  tried  to  tell  the  story  at 
the  same  time.  Dale  did  not  seem  at  all  impressed 
and  Beryl  was  disappointed.  He  said  he  had  heard 
in  the  mills  that  the  newcomer  at  the  Manor  was  a 


THE  LYNCHS  109 

girl,  and  lame,  too.  He  didn't  know  what  difference 
it  made  to  any  of  them,  anyway.  He  scowled  a 
little  as  he  said  it. 

Dale  had  his  father's  strong  body  and  his  mother's 
face  of  a  dreamer ;  his  eyes  were  brooding  like  Beryl's 
but  his  mouth  was  wide  and  tender  and  might  have 
seemed  weak  but  for  the  strength  in  the  square 
cut  jaw. 

Since  that  time,  ten  years  back,  when  he  had 
resolutely  put  behind  him  his  precious  ambitions  and 
had  taken  the  first  job  he  could  find,  he  had  been  the 
recognized  head  of  the  family.  As  such  he  turned 
to  Beryl  now. 

"I  suppose  you'll  let  this  rich  little  girl  wipe  her 
feet  on  you  and  you'll  love  it,"  he  said  with  such 
scorn  that  Beryl  turned  hot  and  cold  in  speech- 
less anger. 

"Now,  sonny,  now,  sonny.  Let's  wait  until  we 
know  the  poor  little  thing,"  begged  his  mother. 

But  for  Beryl,  except  for  the  fun  of  wearing 
the  beads,  all  joy  for  the  moment  had  fled.  She  had 
particularly  wanted  to  impress  Dale  with  her  good 
fortune.  She  had  often,  of  course,  heard  Dale  speak 
scathingly  and  bitterly  of  the  "classes"  and  the 
"privileged  few"  and  the  unfairness  of  things  in 
general,  but  she  had  paid  little  attention  to  it  and 
could  not,  anyway,  connect  it  with  unassuming 
Robin.  When  he  met  Robin,  he'd  understand — and 


i  io  RED-ROBIN 

while  Dale  ate  ravenously  and  talked  to  his  father 
between  mouthf  uls,  she  planned  how  she  would  bring 
Robin  to  supper  the  very  next  time  she  came  home, 
despite  her  vow  that  she  would  never  let  Robin  see 
how  humble  and  small  her  home  was. 

After  supper  Beryl  helped  her  mother  clear  away 
and  Dale  brought  out  his  "plaything"  which  was 
what  he  laughingly  called  the  contrivance  of  strings 
and  spools  and  little  wooden  wheels  he  had  made 
and  which  he  and  his  father  "played  with"  each  even- 
ing. Beryl  had  often  wondered  why  Dale  seemed 
to  care  so  much  about  it;  why  he  spent  hours  and 
hours  drawing  and  figuring  on  bits  of  paper.  Of 
course  it  amused  the  father,  who,  during  the  day, 
cut  the  spools  into  tiny  wheels,  with  a  sharp  jack- 
knife;  but  it  must  be  stupid  for  Dale  to  spend  all 
of  his  evenings  over  the  silly  thing.  Beryl  often 
lounged  on  the  back  of  his  chair  and  listened  to 
discover  whether  there  was  any  part  of  the  game 
she  might  like. 

Tonight  Dale's  interest  seemed  forced. 

"If  I  could  just  find  out  what's  needed  here — 
he  growled,  touching  the  delicate  contrivance.  "That's 
the  way !     While  I'm  racking  my  poor  old  nut,  some 
other  fellow's  going  to  make  the  whole  thing  out !" 

Danny  Lynch's  big  hand  trembled  where  it  lay 
on  the  table.  "If  I  had  had  the  learning — "  he 
began.  "I  could  help,  mebbe." 


THE  LYNCHS  in 

Dale  hastened  to  comfort  him.  "You  don't  get 
that  stuff  from  books,  exactly,  Pop.  It  comes  here," 
touching  his  head.  "If  I  only  had  the  money  to  have 
the  thing  made  in  metal.  Oh,  well,  what's  the  use 
of  talking.  The  thing's  got  my  goat,  though.  I'm 
thinking  about  it  all  the  time.  Say,  Mom,  can  I 
bring  Adam  Kraus  over  to  supper  some  night  ?  He 
said  he'd  like  to  meet  Pop  and  he's  a  good  sort." 

This  Adam  Kraus  had  only  recently  come  to  the 
Mills.  He  had  at  first  impressed  the  neighborhood 
somewhat  unfavorably,  for  he  encouraged  a  sugges- 
tion of  mystery,  lived  at  the  Inn,  kept  aloof  from 
everyone,  and  seemed  to  have  no  family.  Moira's 
own  quick  thought  of  him  when  Dale  had  pointed 
him  out  on  the  road  in  front  of  the  Mill  store  was 
that  "he  looked  too  white  for  a  working  man."  But 
he  seemed  to  have  singled  Dale  out  for  his  advances ; 
Dale  thought  he  was  a  good  sort  and  had  met  him 
more  than  half-way ;  Dale  who  had  had  to  work  too 
hard  by  day  and  study  at  night  to  make  any  close 
friendships.  Whether  she  liked  him  or  not,  he  should 
have  the  best  she  could  offer. 

"I'm  going  to  bring  Robin — I  mean,  Miss 
Forsyth,  down  here  the  next  time  /  come,"  broke 
in  Beryl. 

"And  of  course  you  can.  And  Dale  shall  bring 
his  friend,  too." 

"And  you  can  wear  your  fine  beads,  Sis,"  finished 
Dale,  teasingly. 


112  RED-ROBIN 

"And  it's  a  nice  pot  roast  and  cabbage  salad 
we'll  have,  too.  And  a  bit  of  the  fruit  cake  with 
real  butter  sauce."  Wasn't  she  going  to  get  her 
check  soon  from  the  store  to  which  she  sent  her  lace  ? 

So  Beryl  forgot  her  vexation  and  Dale  his  prob- 
lem with  his  wooden  toy  in  pleasant  anticipation  of 
the  "dinner  party,"  as  Mrs.  Moira  grandly  called  it, 
out  of  respect  to  the  pot  roast  and  the  fruit  cake 
which  Miss  Lewis  had  sent  them  and  which  was 
hidden  away  in  a  huge  crock  in  the  shed. 

"Mom,  can't  I  take  the  beads  back  with  me? 
They're  so  pretty  and  I  haven't  a  thing  that's  nice," 
begged  Beryl  as  the  moment  for  her  to  return  to 
the  Manor  came. 

"The  Princess  and  the  Beggar-maid!"  laughed 
Dale. 

"My  fine  lady  must  have  her  jewels!"  added 
big  Danny. 

Beryl  flushed  under  their  teasing  but  held  her 
tongue,  for  didn't  she  always  have  that  picture  blazed 
in  her  heart  of  the  moment  when  with  her  violin  sh^ 
would  hold  enthralled  her  unappreciative  family  and 
thousands  of  others?  Then  they  would  not  laugh 
at  her! 

"I'll  be  ever  so  careful  of  them  and  only  wear 
them  once  in  a  while,"  she  promised. 

Though  Mrs.  Moira  would,  of  course,  have  given 
her  children  anything  they  wanted  that  was  hers, 


THE  LYNCHS  113 

she  hesitated  now,  not  from  reluctance  to  part  with 
her  one  "pretty"  but  because  suddenly  out  of  the 
silent  past  came  the  old  father's  words:  "They  are 
only  beads.  But  they'll  remind  you  of  this  day." 
She  had  been  seventeen  then — a  slip  of  a  girl.  Beryl 
was  almost  sixteen  now. 

"The  shame  to  me!  Sure,  it's  only  beads  they 
are!"  she  laughed,  with  a  little  catch  in  her  voice. 
**  Of  course  you  shall  take  them." 


CHAPTER  X 

THE  LADY  OF  THE  RUSHING  WATERS 

"WHAT'LL  we  do  today?" 

Beryl  asked  the  question,  turning  from  her  post 
between  the  curtains  of  Robin's  sitting-room.  Not 
in  a  tone  of  complaint  did  she  speak,  rather  as  though 
weighing  which  pastime  would  be  most  worthy  of 
the  unexpected  holiday. 

For  poor  Percival  Tubbs  had  "neuralgy"  and 
could  not  leave  his  room;  Harkness  had  told  them 
when  he  carried  in  their  breakfast. 

"This  is  just  the  kind  of  a  day  you'd  like  some- 
thing to  happen,"  Beryl  went  on,  permitting  a  sigh 
to  convey  how  much  she  would  welcome  that  some- 
thing. "It's  all  gray  and  mysterious.  The  hills  look 
awfully  far  away.  It's  lonesomey." 

Robin  looked  anxiously  to  her  companion.  She 
did  not  feel  lonesome  at  all.  This  room,  where  they 
ate  their  breakfast  each  morning  at  Harkness'  sug- 
gestion, was  cosy  and  full  of  inviting  books  and 
pretty  pictures  and  comfy  chairs ;  Harkness  was  ever 
so  nice  and  concerned  as  to  their  comfort,  they  were 
as  secure  from  Mrs.  Budge's  hostility  as  thick  walls 
and  Harkness'  vigilance  could  make  them  and — best 
of  all,  a  letter  from  her  Jimmie,  full  of  Mr.  Tony's 
plans  and  their  contemplated  sailing,  lay  close  to 
her  heart. 
114 


LADY  OF  THE  RUSHING  WATERS  115 

"What  would  you  like  most  to  do,  Beryl?" 

"Oh,  let's  ask  Williams  to  take  us  for  a  long  ride 
i— I  adore  going  like  the  wind,"  answered  Beryl 
promptly. 

This  suggestion  appealed  to  Robin,  who,  although 
she  didn't  like  to  "go  like  the  wind,"  never  tired  of 
riding  among  the  hills.  She  went  immediately  with 
Beryl  to  find  Williams,  the  chauffeur.  Williams, 
like  the  others  around  the  Manor,  with  the  exception 
of  Mrs.  Budge,  had  fallen  under  Robin's  spell  and 
was  enjoying  the  stir  that  her  coming  brought  to 
the  old  house.  So  he  declared,  now,  that  it  would  be 
a  "nice  day  for  a  run"  and  they  could  take  the 
Cornwall  road,  because  there  was  a  fellow  in  Cornwall 
he  ought  to  see. 

Before  the  holiday  fun  could  begin  Beryl  had 
her  "duties"  to  perform.  These  were  tasks  which 
she  had  set  for  herself  so  that  she  might  not  feel 
for  one  moment  that  she  was  living  on  Robin's  char- 
ity and  were  most  of  them  quite  unnecessary  and 
little  things  that  Robin  would  really  like  to  do  herself. 
However  Beryl  was  too  proudly  intent  upon  saving 
her  pride  to  realize  this  and  Robin,  instinctively 
understanding,  let  her  have  her  way. 

Finally  started,  the  girls  snuggled  close  together 
in  the  car,  holding  hands  under  the  big  robe.  And, 
as  they  sped  over  the  smooth  road,  each  let  her 
thoughts  take  wings.  Beryl's,  with  the  honest  self- 
centredness  that  was  characteristic  of  her,  fluttered 


ii6  RED-ROBIN 

about  herself.  How  she  looked  in  this  peachy  car — 
how  she'd  love  to  steer  it  and  just  step  on  the  gas 
and  fly ;  some  day,  when  she  was  famous,  she'd  have 
a  car  like  this  only  much  bigger  and  painted  yellow 
and  she'd  take  Mom  and  Pop  out  and  go  through 
the  Mill  neighborhood  so  that  that  gossipy  Mrs. 
Whaley  who  had  called  her  "stuck-up"  could  see  her. 
What  she'd  do  in  Robin's  shoes,  anyway!  Why, 
Robin  didn't  know  what  money  meant,  probably  be- 
cause Robin  had  never  wanted  any  one  big  thing, 
like  she  did. 

Robin,  beside  her,  sat  in  cosy  contentment — 
mainly  because  of  her  precious  letter.  She  drew  a 
mental  picture  of  her  Jimmie,  sailing  away.  Then 
her  thoughts  came  back  to  the  gray  hills  and  she 
wished  her  father  might  see  them  at  that  moment, 
so  as  to  paint  them.  He  would  love  Wassumsic, 
she  knew — but,  oh,  he  would  hate  the  Mills.  He 
would  think,  as  she  did,  that  it  was  too  bad  they 
had  built  the  Mill  cottages  between  the  dingy  build- 
ings and  the  freight  yards  when  they  might  have 
built  them  where  each  window  could  have  over- 
looked the  climbing  fields  and  woods,  where  the  child- 
ren could  have  played  in  sweet  grass  the  livelong  day 
and  built  beautiful  snow  forts  when  it  was  winter. 

Beryl  suddenly  broke  the  silence  by  a  gleeful 
"Isn't  this  fun?"  as  Williams  coasted  down  a  long 
grade  with  a  breath-catching  acceleration  of  speed. 

The  wind  had  whipped  a  fine  color  into  the  girls' 


LADY  OF  THE  RUSHING  WATERS    117 

cheeks,  the  changing  scenes  about  them  were  of 
untiring  interest;  they  exclaimed  delightedly  over 
each  curve  and  hill  in  the  road,  each  tiny  hamlet 
through  which  they  passed.  All  too  soon,  they 
reached  Cornwall  and  started  on  the  homeward  way. 

At  the  top  of  a  steep  hill  Williams  slowed  down 
to  slip  the  gear  into  second.  In  the  valley  below 
them  was  a  collection  of  unpainted  houses,  leaning 
towards  one  another  as  though  for  protection  against 
the  growing  things  about  them. 

"The  Forgotten  Village !"  cried  Robin.  "Don't 
you  feel  just  as  though  we  might  tumble  over 
into  it?" 

"A  good  place  to  drive  right  through,"  Williams 
answered  with  a  scornful  laugh. 

Alas,  poor  Williams — he  brought  the  car  skil- 
fully and  safely  down  the  difficult  hill  only  to  have  it 
stop,  with  a  reproachful  snort,  in  the  very  heart  of 
the  little  village. 

"What's  the  matter  ?"'  asked  the  girls  in  one 
breath  as  Williams,  with  an  explosive  exclamation, 
jumped  from  his  seat. 

There  was  a  moment  of  investigation,  before 
the  man  replied. 

"No  gas!" 

"Is  fforf  all?" 

"All !  I'll  say  that's  enough — here.  Don't  look 
as  though  anyone'd  know  what  gas  is  in  these  parts. 


ii8  RED-ROBIN 

You  sit  in  the  car  while  I  ask  someone,  MissForsyth." 

"You  wanted  something  to  happen,  Beryl," 
laughed  Robin,  as  Williams  walked  away. 

"Pooh!  This  isn't  much  of  an  adventure.  And 
I'm  awfully  hungry." 

Poor  Williams  returned  with  the  word  that  he'd 
have  to  walk  on  to  the  next  town — unless  he  was 
lucky  enough  to  meet  someone  who'd  help  him  out. 
He  advised  the  girls  waiting  in  the  store. 

"There  isn't  even  a  telephone  in  this  dump," 
he  grumbled  resentfully,  quite  forgetting  that  he 
had  only  his  own  carelessness  to  blame  for  the 
whole  thing. 

Neither  Robin  nor  Beryl  had  the  slightest  inten- 
tion of  waiting  in  the  funny  little  store  where  the 
crackers  and  tea  and  coif ee  looked  as  old  as  the  old 
man  who  came  out  from  behind  the  counter  at  their 
approach.  They  waited  until  Williams  had  disap- 
peared, then  went  forth  to  explore  the  Forgotten 
Village.  Unabashed,  they  stared  at  the  weather- 
beaten  houses,  at  the  old  woman,  a  faded  shawl  tied 
around  her  head,  washing  clothes  at  a  pump,  at  the 
hideous  square  of  dingy  brick  which  served  as  school 
house  and  church,  its  window  frames  stuffed  here 
and  there  with  rags,  a  pathetic  sign  upon  which  was 
printed  "library,"  hanging  crazily  by  one  nail. 

Beyond  the  church  stood  an  old  mill,  its  roof 
tumbled  in.  Exploring  it  the  girls  heard  the  sound 


LADY  OF  THE  RUSHING  WATERS  119 

of  tumbling  water  and  discovered  a  stream  breaking 
its  way  through  thick  undergrowth.  A  lane,  marked 
by  two  wagon  ruts,  edged  the  course  of  the  stream. 

"Let's  see  where  this  goes,"  suggested  Beryl. 

Robin  limped  willingly  after  her.  It  was  an  allur- 
ing lane,  even  in  November,  for  the  ghostly  gray 
branches  of  old  trees  met  and  interlocked  close  over- 
head, fir  trees,  mingling  with  the  silver  white  trunks 
of  slender  birches,  walled  it  either  side,  a  whirring 
of  invisible  wings  added  to  its  apartness  and  the 
little  stream,  tumbling  its  way,  sounded  like  laughter. 

"Isn't  this  the  loveliest  spot  ?  Wherever  do  you 
suppose  it  comes  out?"  For  the  lane  twisted  and 
turned  as  it  climbed. 

"Robin,  there's  a  house!" 

Ahead  of  them  the  girls  could  see  through  the 
trees  the  outlines  of  a  low  square  house.  And  as 
they  drew  nearer,  walking  stealthily,  they  stared  in 
amazement.  For,  unlike  its  neighbors  in  the  village 
below,  this  house  was  as  white  as  fresh  white  paint 
could  make  it,  at  the  windows  hung  crisply  white 
curtains,  a  brass  knocker  dignified  its  broad  door. 

Robin,  always  imaginative,  clutched  Beryl's  arm 
with  a  breathless  giggle.  "Beryl,  it's  like  the  house 
of  bread  and  cake  with  the  window  panes  of  sugar. 
Do  you  suppose  someone  will  call  out:  'Tip-tap, 
tip-tap,  who  raps  on  my  door'?" 

"Sh-h!  I'm  hungry  enough  to  eat  the  roof. 
Let's  ask  for  a  drink  of  water  so's  to  see  the  inside." 


120  RED-ROBIN 

Robin  did  not  think  it  was  just  nice  to  deliberately 
intrude  upon  the  privacy  of  this  shut-away  house 
but  Beryl,  not  waiting  for  her  approval,  knocked 

boldly  on  the  heavy  old  door. 

When  the  door  swung  open,  however,  and  a 
beaked-nosed  woman,  absurdly  like  the  witch  of  the 
fairy  story,  confronted  the  girls,  Beryl  stood  tongue- 
tied  and  Robin  had  to  come  to  the  rescue. 

"Can  we — if  you  please,  we  had  an  accident — • 
I  mean,  we  went  for  a  walk — oh,  may  we  have  a 
drink  of  water?"  she  floundered,  fairly  blinking  be- 
fore the  sharply  piercing  eyes  of  the  woman  in 
the  door. 

"Who  is  it,  Brina?"  came  from  within,  where- 
upon the  woman  answered  in  rapid  German,  her  head 
turned  backward  over  her  shoulder,  her  hand  still  on 
the  doorknob. 

"Shame  on  you,  Brina.  They  are  two  children— 
lost,  perhaps.  Let  them  come  in." 

The  room  was  disappointingly  like  any  other  old 
country-house  living  room;  scrupulously  clean  and 
shining,  a  wide  fireplace  aglow  with  a  wood  fire 
that  cast  bright  splotches  of  color  over  the  low  walls, 
the  faded  rag  rugs,  the  piece-work  cushions  on  the 
old  wooden  settle. 

Close  to  its  warmth  sat  a  white-haired  woman, 
one  long  thin  hand  supporting  her  head  in  such  a 
way  as  to  keep  her  face  in  a  shadow. 

Robin  explained  their  presence  in  the  lane,  inco- 


LADY  OF  THE  RUSHING  WATERS  121 

herently,  for  there  was  something  frightening  about 
the  silent,  composed  figure  and  the  intentness  with 
which  those  shadowed  eyes  scrutinized  her.  While 
Robin  talked,  Beryl  swiftly  surveyed  the  room  and 
its  occupants,  not  least  of  which  was  a  great  St. 
Bernard  dog,  that,  after  one  "gr'f'f"  leaned  against 
his  mistress'  chair  and  regarded  the  intruders  with 
watchful  eyes  as  though  to  reserve  advances,  friendly 
or  hostile. 

Her  account  finished,  Robin  smiled  bravely  back 
into  the  grave  face,  with  that  enchanting  tenderness 
which  had  won  Cornelius  Allendyce  and  enticed  him 
to  strange  deeds. 

The  smile  worked  its  spell  at  least  on  the  dog 
for  he  moved  slowly  over  to  her,  lifted  a  big  paw 
and  placed  it  gravely  upon  her  shoulder. 

"Caesar  declares  you  a  friend,"  said  the  woman 
in  a  slow,  low-pitched  voice.  "He  does  not  welcome 
many  into  our  seclusion.  Please  sit  down.  Brina, 
bring  these  young  ladies  a  pitcher  of  milk  and 
some  cookies." 

Brina  swung  out  of  the  room  at  her  mistress* 
bidding.  Robin,  uncomfortable  but  immensely  curi- 
'ous  and  excited,  sat  on  the  edge  of  the  settle  and 
chattered,  while  Beryl,  well  behind  their  silent  hostess, 
made  mysterious  signs  with  ringers  and  lips  and  eyes. 

"We  think  this  is  the  loveliest  spot — the  old  town 
and  the  mill  and  this  lane — and  all.  No  one  would 
ever  dream  from  the  road  that  this  house  was  here. 


122  RED-ROBIN 

Has  it  a  name?  First  I  called  it  the  House  of  Bread 
and  Cake  and  Sugar — like  the  fairy  story,  but  it 
ought  to  be  called  the  House  of  Rushing  Waters, 
hadn't  it?" 

"That  will  do — very  nicely.  No,  no  one  would 
know  from  the  road  that  the  house  stands  here." 

But  when  Robin  ventured:  "Aren't  you  ever 
lonely?"  there  was  a  perceptible  tightening  of  the 
lips  that  made  her  sorry  she  had  asked  it. 

"Robin,  there's  something  funny  about  that  whole 
place,"  declared  Beryl,  half-an-hour  later  as  they  went 
back  down  the  lane.  "I  was  doing  some  thinking 
wliite  you  were  talking." 

"She's  a  dear  old  lady,  Beryl.  I  feel  sorry 
for  her." 

"Oh,  yes,  dear  enough.  /  thought  she  was 
stand-offish.  But  you  don't  think  for  a  moment 
she  belongs  'round  here,  in  the  same  town  with  that 
old  cheese  down  at  the  store?" 

Robin  admitted  that  everything  about  her  House 
of  Rushing  Waters  was  very  different  from  the 
Forgotten  Village. 

"Wasn't  that  Brina  just  like  a  witch  with  her 
parrot  nose  and  sharp  eyes?" 

But  Beryl  had  no  patience  just  now  with  Robin's 
beloved  fairy  lore.  Two  little  lines  wrinkled  her 
brow. 

"There's  something  queer  about  that  place  or  my 


LADY  OF  THE  RUSHING  WATERS  123 

name  isn't  Beryl  Lynch.  And  I  like  to  know  what's 
what.  Wouldn't  it  be  fun  to  find  out  what  it  is? 
Whether  she's  hiding  there  on  account  of  something 
or  someone's  keeping  her  a  prisoner?  Maybe — " 
Beryl  lowered  her  voice,  "maybe  she's  crazy." 

"Oh,  Beryl,  she  didn't  act  a  bit  crazy.  Just  very 
sad.  She  was  nice.  I  thought  the  room  was  lovely, 
too — and  the  lunch  and  that  darling  dog."  Robin 
had  thoroughly  enjoyed  the  simple  hospitality  and 
meant  to  defend  it. 

"Of  course  the  room  was  nice,"  Beryl  felt  that 
she  showed  much  patience  with  Robin's  obtuseness, 
"but  didn't  you  see  anything  different  in  that  room? 
Books  and  magazines !  Country  people  don't  sit  and 
read  magazines  and  knit  on  rose  wool  in  the  middle 
of  the  afternoon!  Robin,  that  woman's  a  lady!  And 
you  notice  she  didn't  tell  us  who  she  was.  And  a 
woman  with  her  talking  some  foreign  jibberish." 

"Beryl,  you're  wonderful  to  notice  all  these  things. 
I'd  never  have  noticed  half  of  them." 

Beryl  tossed  her  head  with  pride.  "Nothing 
much  escapes  me,"  she  boasted.  "And  I  think  it  was 
a  good  thing  we  didn't  tell  her  just  who  we  were. 
,But  let's  not  let  a  soul  know  about  our  finding  this 
place  until  we  unravel  the  mystery." 

Robin  hesitated.  "She  was  so  nice  to  us  and  it's 
really  none  of  our  business  why  she's  there  or  who 
she  is — "  she  argued  so  staunchly  that  Beryl  put  in 
hastily:  "Well,  let's  just  have  it  a  secret  because 


124  RED-ROBIN 

secrets  are  such  fun."  And  to  that  Robin  agreed 
gladly,  for  secrets  are  fun  and  are  always  a  strength- 
ening bond  in  true  friendship. 

"I  won't  tell  a  soul!"  she  promised. 

They  found  Williams  waiting  for  them  at  the 
store,  worried  at  their  disappearance  and  annoyed 
at  the  delay.  He  had  walked  many  miles  in  payment 
for  his  carelessness. 

As  they  rushed  homeward,  both  girls  thought  of 
the  house  they  had  left  and  its  lonely  occupant. 

"Wouldn't  wonder  a  bit  if  she  might  be  some 
royalty  person  hiding  here  from  anarchists,"  whis- 
pered Beryl,  with  a  burst  of  imagination,  amazing 
for  her,  tinged  by  a  novel  she  had  recently  read. 

"'Would  we  dare  go  again  to  see  her?" 

"Of  course  we're  going.  Even  if  you  don't, 
I  want  to  find  out  who  she  is  and  all  about  her." 

"I'd  just  like  to  see  her  again  and  that  darling 
dog.  If  she  doesn't  want  to  tell  us  who  she  is  I  don't 
want  her  to !  It's  more  fun  to  pretend  that  her  house 
is  made  of  bread  and  cake  and  sugar." 

"Pooh!"  was  Beryl's  impatient  answer. 

And  that  evening,  as  though  in  defense  of  her 
suspicions  she  thrust  a  newspaper  under  Robin's  nose 
with  an  expressive  "There,  read  that!"  at  the  same 
time  pointing  to  an  inconspicuous  paragraph. 

The  paragraph  told  of  the  mysterious  disappear- 
ance of  its  Dowager  Queen  from  the  little  warring 
Balkan  kingdom  of  Altruria. 


LADY  OF  THE  RUSHING  WATERS  125 

"She  could  be  in  this  country  as  well  as  not. 
I  read  a  book  once  where  a  Duke  hid  for  five  years 
right  in  the  heart  of  New  York  and  then  met  his 
heir  face  to  face  on  Broadway.  Wouldn't  it  be  fun 
if  that  old  woman  was  this  Dowager  Queen?" 

"But,  Beryl,  she  talked  English.  Wouldn't  she 
talk — some  other  language?" 

Beryl  was  not  to  be  discouraged.  "Dowagers 
don't.  They  talk  ever  so  many  tongues.  English 
as  good  as  any.  I'll  bet  anything  you  say.  You 
just  wait." 


CHAPTER  XI 

POT   ROAST   AND   CABBAGE    SALAD 

THE  following  Wednesday  had  been  set  for  Mrs, 
Lynch's  dinner  of  "pot  roast  and  cabbage  salad." 

"You'll  think  we're  awfully  poor,  Robin,  when 
you  see  that  mean  old  cottage,"  Beryl  complained  as 
the  girls  were  dressing  for  the  dinner. 

Robin,  hesitating  between  a  Madonna  blue  and 
a  yellow  dress,  turned  quickly  at  the  tone  in 
Beryl's  voice. 

"Oh,  Beryl,  what  difference  does  your  house 
make !  I  want  to  know  your  mother  and  your  father 
and— Dale." 

"Well,  there's  no  use  your  dressing  up — it'll  just 
make  everything  else  there  look  absurdly  shabby." 

Robin  laid  the  garment  she  held  down  upon  the 
bed.  A  puzzled  look  darkened  the  glow  in  her  eyes. 
There  were  a  great  many  times  when  she  found  it 
difficult  to  understand  Beryl's  changing  moods.  She 
herself  was  too  indifferent  to  clothes  to  know  that 
it  was  the  two  pretty  gowns  she  had  brought  out 
from  her  wardrobe  that  had  now  sent  Beryl  into 
the  dumps. 

"I  won't  dress  up,  Beryl.     I  just  thought  your 

mother  would  like  to  have  me — out  of  respect  to 

her  party.     I  didn't  think  you  wouldn't  like  it.     But 

if  you  think  I'm  going  down  there  to  stare  around 

126 


POT  ROAST  AND  CABBAGE  SALAD  127 

at  the  things  in  the  house  and  pick  to  pieces  the  dishes 
and  the  food — you're  wrong,  Beryl.  I  think  your 
mother  must  be  a  wonderful  woman  and  I  am  just 
crazy  to  meet  her  and  I  know  I'm  going  to  love  your 
father  and  I  never  talked  to  a  boy  in  my  whole 
life  except  in  school  when  I  had  to!  There !"  Robin 
stopped  for  very  lack  of  breath. 

This  unexpected  show  of  spirit,  so  unlike  Robin's 
usual  gentleness,  took  Beryl  back.  Fond  as  she  was 
of  her  mother  she  had  never  thought  of  her  as  exactly 
"wonderful"  or  of  anyone  wanting  to  know  her,  or 
her  poor,  crippled  father,  or  Dale.  She  laughed  a 
little  shamefacedly. 

"Oh,  wear  what  you  want  to,  Robin.  I  suppose 
I'm  jealous  because  I  haven't  anything  except  that 
old  gray  thing  that's  just  tottering  with  age.  What 
a  joke  to  call  Dale  a  boy!  Why,  he's  never  been 
a  boy,  because  he's  worked  so  hard  for  everything." 

"Well,  I'm  glad  I'm  going  to  meet  him,  anyway." 
Robin  spoke  with  excitement.  It  did  not  matter  at 
all  what  she  wore — without  a  moment's  hesitation 
she  put  away  the  blue  and  the  yellow  dress  and 
brought  forth  the  mouse  colored  jersey  she  had  worn 
when  she  arrived  at  Gray  Manor — she  was  going 
to  meet  Beryl's  family.  Robin,  who  had  never  had 
any  family  except  "Jimmie,"  imagined  beautiful 
things  of  family  life,  mostly  colored  by  books  she 
had  read  and  pictures  she  had  seen.  Brothers  were 
always  big  strong  fellows  who  sometimes  teased  their 


128  RED-ROBIN 

younger  sisters  but  were  always  ready  with  a  helping 
hand ;  fathers — well,  she  knew  about  fathers,  having 
had  Jimmie,  but  Beryl's  father  must  be  very  different 
because  of  his  accident.  It  was  "Mom"  that  she 
most  wanted  to  know.  She  hoped  Beryl's  mother 
would  kiss  her.  At  the  thought  her  heart  gave  a 
quick  little  beat. 

When  Percival  Tubbs,  to  whom  Harkness,  uncer- 
tain as  to  the  propriety  of  a  Forsyth  dining  at  one 
of  the  Mill  cottages  had  appealed,  had  mildly  endeav- 
ored to  point  out  to  Robin  that  this  dinner-party  was 
not  exactly  "fitting,"  Robin  had  simply  not  been  able 
V>  understand  and  had  answered  so  honestly :  "Why, 
just  because  I'm  a  Forsyth  doesn't  make  me  a  bit 
better  than  those  people  who  work  in  the  Mills,  does 
it?"  That  Mr.  Tubbs  had  abandoned  his  point  with 
a  mental  reservation  not  unlike  Mrs.  Budge's  be- 
loved: "Things  are  going  to  sixes  and  sevens." 

And  below  stairs  the  loyal  Harkness,  putting  off 
his  own  doubt,  had  met  Mrs.  Budge's  scorn  of  the 
whole  "goings-on"  with  a  grand  defense  of  his  little 
mistress :  "Some  lydies  in  'igh  places  distribute  their 
bounty  in  baskets  but  if  Miss  Gordon  sees  fit  to  carry 
'ers  in  her  pretty  little  'eart,  I  don't  say  it's  for  us 
to  be  a  thinking  it  isn't  the  'appier  way,"  and  Budge 
knew  he  was  very  much  in  earnest  because  he  forgot 
his  h's,  a  little  trick  of  speech  he  had  long  ago 
overcome. 

For  a  finishing  touch  to  her  despised  "best"  dress, 


POT  ROAST  AND  CABBAGE  SALAD  129 

Beryl  brought  forth  her  green  beads.  Robin  ex- 
claimed over  them,  taking  them  out  of  Beryl's  hand 
to  hold  them  to  the  light. 

"Oh,  they  are  lovely,  Beryl,  see  the  deep  glow! 
They're  like  the  sea.  You  ought  to  be  proud 
of  them." 

"They're  just  some  beads  an  old  priest  gave 
mother  when  she  was  a  girl,"  Beryl  explained,  mak- 
ing her  voice  indifferent.  She  loved  Robin's  en- 
thusiasm but  half -suspected  it  might  be  "put  on"  in 
order  to  make  up  to  her  for  the  things  she  did  not 
have.  "They  do  look  nice  on  this  dress,  though, 
don't  they?"  She  laid  them  against  her  neck  and 
stared  with  satisfaction  at  the  reflection  in  the 
long  mirror. 

The  Lynch  cottage,  in  honor  of  the  occasion, 
sparkled  with  orderliness.  Mrs.  Moira  looked  very 
gay  in  a  pretty  foulard  she  had  made  over  from 
two  of  Miss  Lewis'  old  dresses ;  her  fluttering  hands 
alone  betrayed  her  nervousness  and  her  fears  that 
though  the  most  tempting  smells  came  from  the 
stove  her  dinner  might  not  be  "just  right"  for  little 
Miss  Forsyth  and  for  Dale's  new  friend,  too. 

However,  when  Robin  came  into  the  room  with 
Beryl  she  looked  so  appealingly  small  that  Mrs.  Lynch 
promptly  forgot  she  was  a  Forsyth  and  that  the 
dinner  might  not  be  good  enough  and  put  her 
arms  around  her  and  kissed  her.  And  Robin  with 
an  impulsive  movement  snuggled  closer  to  the 

warm  embrace. 
9 


130  RED-ROBIN 

"Why,  it's  a  mite  of  a  thing  you  are,"  cried 
Mrs.  Moira  with  the  singing  note  in  her  voice  that 
always  came  when  she  was  deeply  moved.  "And 
hungry,  I  hope.  Well,  Dale  will  be  here  in  a  mo- 
ment and  then  we'll  dish  up." 

Then  everything  was  just  like  Robin  had  hoped 
it  would  be.  Beryl's  mother  called  them  "  children" 
and  let  them  help  her  with  the  finishing  touches  of 
the  dinner.  Beryl's  father  smiled  at  her  and  patted 
her  hand.  She  did  not  see  the  little  room  with 
Beryl's  eyes,  its  limited  space  into  which  so  much 
had  to  be  crowded,  the  cracked  shade  on  the  lamp, 
the  dingy  carpeting  that  held  together  through  some 
kind  miracle,  she  only  thought  it  cosy  and  homey; 
she  liked  the  queer  old  clock  and  the  blue  bowl  filled 
with  artificial  jonquils  and  the  crocheted  "tidies" 
with  dogs  designed  in  intricate  stitches. 

"Here's  Dale!"  whispered  Beryl.  "I'm  crazy  to 
meet  his  friend.  I'm  going  to  sit  next  to  him  at 
the  table,  see  if  I  don't." 

In  the  excitement  of  Dale's  arrival  and  of  intro- 
ducing the  strange  "Mr.  Kraus"  no  one  noticed  Robin 
for  a  moment,  or  that  she  stared  at  Dale  with  round, 
puzzled  eyes.  Had  she  ever  seen  him  before?  When 
Beryl  turned  suddenly  and  said :  "Dale,  this  is  Gordon 
Forsyth,"  she  hoped  he  would  say:  "Why,  I  know 
her."  However,  he  merely  mumbled  "How  do  you 
do,"  stiffly,  and  turned  away,  to  Beryl's  indignation 
and  Robin's  vague  disappointment. 


POT  ROAST  AND  CABBAGE  SALAD  131 

The  pot  roast  and  the  cabbage  salad  were  as 
delicious  as  Mrs.  Moira's  loving  pains  could  make 
them ;  Dale's  friend  talked  mostly  to  big  Danny  and 
Mrs.  Moira  listened  and  Dale  occasionally  put  in 
a  word.  Over  her  plate  Robin  watched  first  one 
and  then  another,  her  eyes  invariably  coming  back 
to  Dale's  face.  Beryl,  annoyed  that  no  one  noticed 
her  and  Robin  and  treated  them  "as  though  they 
were  just  children,"  ate  ravenously,  in  dignified 
silence. 

The  talk  centered  about  the  Mills.  Adam  Kraus 
freely  ridiculed  the  Forsyth  methods.  "They're 
miles  behind  the  times,"  he  declared  and  compared 
them  glibly  with  other  similar  industries.  "Old 
Norris  belongs  to  the  has-beens.  Look  at  the  ma- 
chinery he  uses — all  right  in  its  day,  of  course.  But 
if  a  fellow  went  to  him  with  some  new  kind  of  a 
loom,  would  he  look  at  it?  Not  he!  The  old's 
good  enough." 

"Hear  that,  Pop?"  put  in  Dale,  exchanging  a 
meaning  glance  with  his  father. 

"And  look  at  the  way  they  house  the  mill  hands 
here,  putting  a  fellow  like  Dale  with  his  cleanness 
and  his  brains  and  his  possibilities,  into  a  dump  like 
this.  They  don't  recognize  the  human  element  in 
industries  of  this  sort  or  what  it's  worth  to  them. 
Why,  there's  no  argument  any  more  as  to  the  in- 
creased efficiency  from  giving  better  living  condi- 
tions— but  I'll  bet  Norris  hasn't  heard  of  it." 


132  RED-ROBIN 

"We  haven't  been  here  long  enough  to  know — " 
Mrs.  Lynch  began  gently  but  Dale  interrupted  her, 
his  voice  rough. 

"It  isn't  Norris  alone,  Adam.  You've  got  to  go 
further  up — it's  the  House  of  Forsyth.  They're 
feudal  lords — or  like  to  think  they  are.  Do  you 
suppose  it  mattered  much  up  there,  when  the  little 
Castle  girl  had  her  arm  crushed  in  that  old  wheel 
last  month  and  died  because  her  body  wasn't  nour- 
ished enough  to  stand  under  the  amputation?  A 
lot  they  cared — just  one  bit  of  machinery  gone  for 
a  day — another — " 

"Dale — "  cried  Mrs.  Lynch,  in  distressed  em- 
barrassment, and  suddenly  everyone  looked  at  Robin. 

Robin  had  been  listening  to  Adam  Kraus  and 
Dale  with  deep  interest.  It  was  not  until  Mrs.  Lynch 
exclaimed  and  all  eyes  turned  in  her  direction  that 
she  connected  what  they  were  saying  with  her  own 
self.  Under  Dale's  sudden  scrutiny  she  flushed. 

"I  forgot  you  were  here,  little  Miss  Forsyth." 
But  this  was  so  far  from  an  apology  that  Mrs. 
Lynch  looked  more  distressed  than  before  and  Beryl 
glared  at  her  brother. 

"Oh,  please  don't  mind  me,"  begged  Robin.  She 
•was  glad  Dale  did  not  say  he  was  sorry  for  what  he 
had  been  saying;  she  wanted  to  know  more.  She 
wanted  to  tell  them  that  she  called  the  Mills  a  Giant 
and  that  she  hated  them  and  that  Cornelius  Allendyce 
had  told  her  she  should  look  for  a  Jack  who  could 


POT  ROAST  AND  CABBAGE  SALAD  133 

climb  the  Bean  Stalk,  only  she  was  afraid  of  the 
stranger  and  a  little  of  Dale,  too.  "Won't  you  tell 
me  all  about  the — the  Castle  girl  ?" 

"There  isn't  much  to  tell  about  her  that's  different 
from  ninety-nine  other  cases.  She  was  supporting 
a  younger  brother  and  sister.  The  brother's  only 
twelve  years  old  but  he  had  to  go  to  work — said  he 
was  sixteen.  The  kid  sister  helps  the  grandmother 
as  much  as  she  can." 

"Do  they  live  in  one  of  these  houses?" 

"In  the  old  village.  They're  cheaper,  you  see. 
The  boy  can't  earn  as  much  as  Sarah  Castle  did  and 
they  had  to  move  up  the  river." 

"Could  I  go  to  see  them— sometime  ?" 

Mrs.  Lynch  answered  for  Dale.  "Of  course  you 
can,  dearie.  And  I'll  go  with  you.  It's  from  my 
own  county  they  say  the  grandmother  conies  and 
likely  she'll  know  some  of  the  old  people." 

"Oh,  will  you?"  Robin's  eyes  shone  like  two  deep 
pools  reflecting  starlight.  "I'd  like  to  know  every- 
one here  in  the  village  and  what  they  do.  Perhaps 
the — the  other  Forsyths  wanted  to  really  know  the 
Mill  people,  too,  only  they — they've  been  so  unhappy. 
But  I'm  different,  you  see — I'm  a  girl  and  so  sort 
of— little." 

"Bless  the  warm  little  heart  of  her — defending 
her  own,"  thought  Mrs.  Lynch,  and  Dale,  his  face 
softening  until  it  was  boyish,  smiled  and  said :  "You 
ore  a  little  thing,  aren't  you?" 


134  RED-ROBIN 

At  his  smile,  a  wave  of  memory  rushed  over  Robin 
with  such  suddenness  that  a  breathless  "oh"  escaped 
her  parted  lips.  A  dark  night  and  lonely  streets,  a 
chill  wind  cutting  her  face,  an  iron  fence  enclosing 
a  deserted  triangle  of  dead  grass  and  filthy  papers 
— a  kind  voice  telling  her  not  to  cry — of  course,  her 
Prince!  She  peeped  almost  fearfully  at  Dale  who 
was  joking  with  Beryl.  He  did  not  know — he  had 
forgotten,  of  course.  He  had  been  a  big  boy,  then, 
and  he  had  not  gone  on  playing  the  little  game  the 
way  she  had.  How  wonderful,  how  very  wonderful, 
to  find  him.  And  Beryl's  brother!  She  did  not 
mind  at  all  what  he  had  said  about  the  Forsyth's. 
If  he  said  it,  it  must  be  true.  She  would  find  out. 

Mrs.  Lynch,  beaming  over  her  simple  dinner, 
little  knew  that  Destiny  sat  at  her  board,  shaping, 
moulding,  gathering  and  weaving  the  threads  of  life, 
golden  and  drab. 

To  Beryl's  disgust,  after  the  meal  Dale  brought 
forth  his  "toy."  But  Adam  Kraus,  instead  of  show- 
ing the  boredom  which  Beryl  expected,  studied  it 
with  absorbed  keenness,  quickly  grasping  what  Dale 
wanted  to  do. 

"Have  you  ever  shown  this  to  Norris?"  he  asked 
Dale. 

Dale  shook  his  head.  "No  use  to  do  it  now — until 
I've  worked  the  thing  out  to  perfection.  And  I  can't 
do  that — without  money. " 

Robin,  wiping  plates  for  Mrs.  Lynch,  caught 
Dale's  words  and  Adam  Kraus'  answer. 


POT  ROAST  AND  CABBAGE  SALAD  135 

"I  wonder  if  Norris  would  see  what  an  invention 
like  that — if  you  can  make  it  do  what  you  say  you 
can — would  be  worth  to  these  mills.  It  would  lift 
them  out  of  the  boneyard  of  antiquity  and  put  them 
fifty  years  ahead  of  their  competitors.  Why,  I'll 
bet  Granger's  would  give  you  a  cool  twenty  thousand 
for  that  just  as  it  stands.  It  would  serve  Norris 
right,  too." 

Dale's  face  flushed  with  excitement.  "Do  you 
really  think  all  that,  Adam?  Pop  and  I've  gotten 
so  down  in  the  dumps  trying  to  work  the  thing  out 
that  we've  lost  our  sense  of  values." 

"Inventors  never  have  any,"  laughed  Kraus,  with 
&  change  in  his  voice.  And  he  commenced  hastily 
to  talk  of  other  things,  to  Dale's  disappointment 

Robin  pulled  timidly  at  Dale's  arm. 

"Who's  Grangers?" 

"Grangers?  Don't  you  know  the  big  mills  up 
at  South  Falls?" 

"Would  they — if  they  took — that — you'd  go 
there — "  She  tried  desperately  to  voice  the  fear  that 
had  shaped  in  her  heart ;  Grangers  taking  this  funny 
wooden  thing  that  Mr.  Kraus  said  was  worth  so 
much,  and  Dale  going  away  from  Wassumsic,  and 
Dale's  mother — and  Beryl. 

"You  just  bet  I  would,"  and  Dale  laughed.  "But 
(don't  worry,  we  won't  be  going  for  a  while." 

Robin  had  so  much  to  think  about  that  night 
that  she  could  not  go  to  sleep.  She  did  not  want 
to  go  to  sleep.  Up  to  this  day  she  had  been  just 


136  RED-ROBIN 

little  Robin  Forsyth,  "Red-Robin,"  at  Gray  Manor 
to  let  Jimmie  have  his  chance ;  happy,  because  Jimmie 
was  having  his  chance  and  Beryl  was  with  her  and 
Beryl  was  unfailingly  interesting. 

Now  she  realized  that  a  Forsyth  couldn't  be  just 
"anything."  A  Forsyth  ought  to  care  about  those 
awful  Mills,  that  were  in  some  sort  of  a  "boneyard," 
and  about  the  people  who  worked  in  them — espe- 
cially poor  Sarah  Castle's  brother  and  sister.  And 
there  were  probably  many  other  boys  and  girls. 
She'd  ask  Mrs.  Lynch — or  Dale. 

Beryl  stirred  and  Robin  ventured  to  speak. 

"Beryl,  are  you  awake?  If  Mr.  Norris  bought 
that  invention  of  your  brother's,  would  it  make  things 
easier  for — the  Mill  people?" 

Beryl  jerked  herself  up  on  her  elbow. 

"Red-Robin  Forsyth,  are  you  crazy?  Fussing 
over  that  absurd  toy  of  Dale's  at  this  hour?  Why 
should  you  care?"  Beryl  sank  back  into  her  pillows 
and  stretched.  "Didn't  Mr.  Kraus  have  the  most 
glorious  eyes?" 

Robin  answered  with  amazing  positiveness.  "No, 
I  hated  his  eyes.  They  were  not  true  eyes.  But — 
I  like  Dale — lots."  And  just  here,  for  the  second 
time,  she  locked  her  lips  on  her  precious  secret  for 
Dale  must  never  know  that  she  remembered  him; 
all  that  belonged  to  her  childhood.  Beryl  might 
laugh,  too,  as  she  often  did  at  her  "fancies,"  and 
call  her  "funny." 


POT  ROAST  AND  CABBAGE  SALAD  137 

Thinking  of  Dale  brought  her  thoughts  back 
to  the  Mills  so  that  while  Beryl  snuggled  her  sleepy 
head  back  into  her  pillow,  she  stared  at  the  thin  shaft 
of  light  that  shone  under  the  door  and  wished  she 
was  big  instead  of  "a  little  bit  of  a  thing"  and  very 
wise  so  that  she  would  know  what  to  do  to  show 
these  people  in  Wassumsic  that  she — a  Forsyth, 
did  care. 


CHAPTER  XII 

ROBIN   WRITES  A   LETTER 

CORNELIUS  ALLENDYCE  had  returned  to  New 
York  from  Gray  Manor  with  his  mind  pleasantly 
at  ease  so  far  as  Gordon  Forsyth  was  concerned. 
His  associates  noticed  a  certain  smugness  and 
satisfaction  about  him  and  they  often  caught  him 
smiling  at  inappropriate  moments  and  then  pulling 
himself  together  as  though  his  thoughts  had  been 
wandering  far  from  fields  of  law. 

Cornelius  Allendyce  did  feel  pleased  with  himself. 
How  many  men  would  have  dared  put  this  thing 
through  the  way  he  had?  And  how  well  it  had 
all  turned  out;  Madame  somewhere  seeking  her 
"rest,"  living  in  her  past,  her  mind  undisturbed, 
Jimmie  sailing  away  to  get  inspiration,  and  little 
Robin  happy  in  the  shelter  of  Gray  Manor.  Indeed, 
it  had  all  turned  out  so  surprisingly  well  that  he  could 
tuck  it  away,  figuratively  speaking,  in  the  steel  box 
in  his  safe,  marked  "Forsyth."  Only  he  did  not 
want  to — he  liked  to  think  it  all  over. 

Up  to  the  time  of  finding  Robin,  girls  were  a 
species  of  the  human  race  of  which  the  lawyer  knew 
little.  He  supposed  that  they  were  all  alike — pretty, 
fun-loving,  timid,  giggly,  prone  to  curl  themselves 

like  kittens,   impulsive,   and  pardonably  vain.     He 
138 


ROBIN  WRITES  A  LETTER          139 

knew  absolutely  nothing  of  the  fearless,  honest,  open- 
air  girls,  with  hearts  and  souls  as  straight  and  clean 
as  their  healthy  young  bodies  or  that  there  were 
legions  like  little  Robin  and  Beryl  who,  because  they 
had  been  cheated  of  much  that  went  to  the  making 
of  these  others,  stood  as  a  type  apart.  He  only 
thought — as  he  went  over  the  whole  thing — that 
Robin's  Jimmie  was  to  blame  for  her  being  "differ- 
ent," leaving  her  alone  so  much  and  letting  her  take 
responsibilities  way  over  her  head;  now  she  would 
enjoy  the  girlish  pleasures  that  were  her  due.  His 
sister  Effie  had  supplied  her  with  everything  in  the 
way  of  clothes  and  knick-knacks  she  could  want; 
Harkness  would  keep  old  Mrs.  Budge  in  line,  Tubbs 
would  go  light  with  the  school  work — he  had  cer- 
tainly made  a  point  of  that,  and,  when  he  could  run 
up  to  Wassumsic  again,  he'd  look  over  this  little 
companion  Robin  had  adopted.  If  she  were  not  all 
that  she  ought  to  be  (Miss  Effie  had  somewhat  dis- 
turbed him  on  this  point)  why,  a  change  could  be 
made ;  someone  a  little  older  and  more  cultured  (Miss 
Effie's  word)  could  be  sent  up  from  New  York. 

Upon  this  train  of  pleasant  contemplation,  en- 
joyed at  intervals  in  his  work,  Robin's  letter,  written 
a  few  days  after  her  dinner  at  Mrs.  Lynch's,  fell 
like  a  bomb. 

"DEAR  GUARDIAN,"  she  had  begun, 

"I  am  ever  so  sorry  I  haven't  written  for  so  long,  but  1 
haven't  had  a  minute,  really,  truly.    There  are  so  many  things 


140  RED-ROBIN 

to  look  at  and  to  do.  I  am  beginning  to  really  love  Gray 
Manor — it  is  so  always  and  always  beautiful.  Mr.  Harkness 
is  a  dear  and  is  very  good  and  tells  me  what  to  do  many 
times  when  I  am  stupid  and  do  not  see  for  myself — like  the 
finger-bowls.  Jimmie  and  I  never  used  finger-bowls.  I  don't 
mind  the  school  work,  though  I  simply  can't  keep  up  with 
Beryl.  When  you  come  up,  I  will  tell  you  how  wonderful 
Beryl  is  and  all  about  her  family.  Her  mother  had  a  lovely 
dinner  one  night  and  Beryl  took  me.  Beryl  is  going  to  be 
a  great  violinist,  you  know,  and  she  is  saving  money  to  buy  a 
real  violin  that  will  be  all  her  own  and  take  lessons.  She 
will  not  let  me  do  a  thing  to  help  her,  which  is  splendid — I 
mean,  for  her  to  be  so  proud  and  brave,  though  I  wish  she 
would  let  me  do  just  a  little. 

We  have  some  very  good  times  together,  mostly  taking 
lovely  rides  back  in  the  hills  to  places  Harkness  tells  us 
about  and  once  we  took  our  lunch  and  Mr.  Tubbs  and  Harkness 
went,  Though  Mr.  Tubbs  had  dreadful  neuralgia  afterwards. 
Beryl  and  I  read  every  evening.  I  love  the  books.  I  think 
I've  been  hungry  for  them  all  my  life  and  didn't  know  it. 
We're  playing  a  game  to  see  which  of  us  can  read  the  most. 
We  can  play  forever  because  one  day  we  counted  the  books 
in  the  library  and  there  are  one  thousand  and  seventy  four 
and  Harknes?  says  there  are  more  in  Christopher  the  Third's 
room.  Harkness  has  been  telling  us  all  about  him  and  he 
showed  us  his  picture — you  know,  the  one  in  the  Dragon's 
sitting-room  (I  apologize,  in  Aunt  Mathilde's  room)  and  he 
looked  like  a  young  prince,  didn't  he  ?  How  will  Aunt  Mathilde 
ever  reconcile  herself  to  a  little  insignificant,  lame  thing  like 
me  when  she  sees  me? 

Oh,  I  wish  I  could  really  truly  meet  my  good  Fairy 
somewhere — the  one  who  forgot  to  attend  my  birth — and 
she'd  give  me  one  wish,  I'd  just  ask  for  one.  And  that  wish 
would  be  to  G-R-O-W.  I  never  cared  before  but  now  I  want 


ROBIN  WRITES  A  LETTER          141 

to  be  BIG.  Oh,  and  wise !  Mr.  Tubbs  will  tell  you  how 
stupid  I  am.  A  Forsyth  ought  to  be  big  and  wise.  You  see, 
before  this  I  have  never  thought  of  myself  as  a  real  true 
Forsyth — I've  always  just  been  Jimmie's  daughter.  But  lately 
I've  been  thinking  a  lot  about  what  a  Forsyth  ought  to  be 
and  there  are  about  a  million  questions  I'd  like  to  ask: 

1.  Ought  Mr.  Norris  to  let  the  Mills  sink  into  a  bone- 
yard  of  antiquity? 

2.  What  is  the  very  most  money  I  could  spend  all  in 
one  lump  and  can  I  spend  it  without  telling  anyone  about 
it  beforehand? 

3.  There's   an   empty   cottage   just   below    where   the 
Manor    road    crosses    the    river    and   Williams    says    the 
Forsyths  own  it.    Can  Beryl  and  I  use  it  for  a  club? 
Thinking  of  the  questions  makes  me  forget  the  other  nine 

hundred  ninety  nine  thousand,  nine  hundred  and  ninety  seven, 
(I  did  that  on  paper)  but  please  come  to  Gray  Manor  soon 
so  that  I  can  ask  the  rest. 

Your  loving  RED-ROBIN. 

P.S.  The  violin  came  and  thanks  ever  and  ever  so  much 
though  Beryl  says  she  will  not  call  it  hers  for  one  little  minute. 
But  she  most  cried  over  it  she  loves  it  so  and  she  makes 
the  most  beautiful  music  with  it.  I  am  dreadfully  jealous 
because  she  won't  even  listen  to  a  word  I  say  now.  She 
says  she's  living  in  the  clouds.  It's  wonderful  to  have  a  big 
dream,  isn't  it?  But  I  am  starting  one  which  I'll  tell  you 
when  it's  big  enough." 

Mr.  Allendyce  read  the  letter  three  times,  stop- 
ping at  intervals  to  polish  his  glasses  as  though  they 
must  be  at  fault.  "What  does  this  mean?"  he  ex- 
claimed over  and  over.  "What's  up?" 

Why  on  earth  was  Robin  worrying  her  little  head 
over  the  Mills  and  talking  so  absurdly  about  a  bone' 


142  RED-ROBIN 

yard?  And  why  did  she  want  more  money?  And 
who  were  these  people  with  whom  she  had  dined? 
And  what  did  she  and  Beryl  want  with  a  club  when 
they  had  all  Gray  Manor  to  play  in? 

Not  able  to  answer  any  of  these  disturbing  ques- 
tions the  poor  man  sought  out  Miss  Effie — who, 
having  been  a  girl,  once,  herself,  ought  to  know 
something  of  the  vagaries  of  a  girl's  mind. 

Miss  Effie  felt  very  proud  that  her  brother  cared 
anything  for  her  opinion.  She  nodded  wisely  and 
smiled  reassuringly. 

"Girl  notions — that's  all.  Don't  worry  over  the 
foibles  of  growing  girls.  It's  one  thing  today  and 
something  else  tomorrow." 

The  guardian  was  not  so  easily  reassured.  "But 
Robin  isn't  like  other  girls — "  he  began,  with  a  dis- 
turbing recollection  of  Robin's  highhandedness  in 
engaging  a  companion. 

"Tush !  Bosh !"  Miss  Effie  would  not  let  him  go 
on.  "Girls  are  all  alike  under  their  skins.  This 
poor  kiddie's  been  starved  for  nice  things  and  her 
sudden  good  fortune's  gone  to  her  head.  She  doesn't 
know  the  value  of  money,  either;  what'd  seem  big 
to  her  would  be  carfare  for  you.  Give  her  more 
to  do.  And  she  ought  to  know  some  young  folks." 

Now  Cornelius  Allendyce  beamed  fondly  upon 
his  sister.  She  had  comforted  him.  Of  course, 
Robin's  subconscious  self  was  reaching  out  to  touch 
the  lives  of  others.  In  spite  of  their  uncertain  living 


ROBIN  WRITES  A  LETTER          143 

she  and  Jimmie  were  of  a  sociable  sort — he  ought 
not  to  have  expected  that  she  would  be  content  in 
Gray  Manor  with  no  outside  interests. 
"Couldn't  that  tutor  get  up  a  party?" 
"That's  a  good  idea,  sister.     I'll  write  to  Tubbs. 
Probably  the  county's  expecting  something  of  the 
sort,  anyway.     I  suppose  it  ought  to  be  rather  simple 
— she's  so  young  and  Madame  Forsyth  being  away. 
I'll  raise  the  child's  allowance,  too— let  her  spend  it 
if  she  can,  bless  her  heart." 

His  mind  once  more  quite  at  ease,  Cornelius 
Allendyce  put  Robin's  letter  into  his  pocket.  He 
would  write  to  her  the  next  day  and  to  Percival  Tubbs. 
He  ought  to  have  consulted  his  sister  sooner.  Well, 
a  guardian  learned  something  new  every  day,  he 
told  himself,  with  a  smile. 


No  one  had  suspected  the  torment  of  thought 
that  racked  poor  Robin's  head  for  the  few  days  fol- 
lowing the  dinner-party.  She  had  arisen  that  next 
morning  with  the  firm  resolve  to  "be"  a  Forsyth, 
but  she  did  not  know  just  what  she  ought  to  do  first 
and  there  was  no  one  to  tell  her.  Beryl  was  no  more 
sympathetic  than  she  had  been  the  night  before  and 
had  answered  her  persistent  questioning  absent- 
mindedly.  However,  unknowingly,  she  did  give  two 
helpful  hints,  upon  which  Robin  seized  gratefully. 

"Mother  says  that  what  Wassumsic  ought  to  have 


144  RED-ROBIN 

is  a  clubhouse  like  Miss  Lewis'  place  in  New  York. 
Mother  took  care  of  that,  you  know.  Miss  Lewis 
is  a  wonder.  She  always  declared  children  need  fun 
just  the  way  they  need  milk  and  she  fixed  it  so  that 
they  got  both." 

"Oh,  yes,  there  are  ever  so  many  boys  and  girls 
in  Wassumsic  only  they're  mostly  working  in  the 
Mills.  I'd  have  to  work  there  myself  only  I've  made 
Dale  believe  that  I  can  do  something — else.  If  I 
ever  started  in  the  old  Mills  I'd  be  like  the  others. 
That's  the  way — you  begin  and  then  you  never  know 
how  to  do  anything  different." 

"I'm  glad  you're  not  there.  I'm  like — Dale.  I 
know  you'll  be  a  wonderful  violinist  some  day!" 
Robin  never  failed  to  say  what  Beryl  wanted. 

Beryl  tossed  her  head.  "I  could  have  just  settled 
down  into  a  drudge,  working  all  day  and  too  tired 
at  night  to  care  what  I  did  and  saving  just  enough 
out  of  my  pay  envelope  to  buy  me  a  hair-net  but  I 
wouldn't  begin !  I  wouldn't !  They  can  all  call  me 
proud  and  lazy  but  I'll  show  them— old  Henri  Jacques 
and  Martini  himself  said  I  would!  But  I've  had  to 
fight  to  make  people  believe  me — and  I  s'pose  I'll 
have  to  go  on  fighting."  To  the  egotism  of  sixteen 
years  these  words  sounded  very  grand;  it  stirred 
Beryl  to  think  she  had  fought  for  every  advantage 
that  was  hers,  to  read  the  admiration  in  Robin's 
eyes.  She  had  no  thought  of  disloyalty  in  claiming 
the  credit  that  really  belonged  to  the  little  mother 


ROBIN  WRITES  A  LETTER          145 

who  had  dreamed  the  dream  first  for  her  girl  and 
then,  through  years  of  work  and  self-denial,  had  lived 
for  that  dream  to  come  true. 

After  the  arrival  of  the  violin  Beryl  promptly 
lost  herself  in  a  trance  of  rapture  that  left  Robin  to 
her  own  pursuits.  Only  once  the  quite  human 
thought  flashed  to  her  mind  that  Beryl  might  be  a 
little  bit  interested  in  what  she  wanted  to  do  but  she 
put  it  away  as  unworthy  for,  she  told  herself,  Beryl, 
destined  one  day  to  stand  on  a  pedestal,  could  not  be 
expected  to  bother  with  such  every-day  things  as 
planning  "fun"  for  the  Mill  children. 

So  Robin  left  Beryl  with  her  beloved  instrument 
and  went  alone  to  talk  to  Mrs.  Lynch  who  was  so 
startled  at  her  unexpected  coming  that  she  kissed  her 
and  called  her  "little  Robin"  before  she  realized  what 
she  was  doing.  That,  and  the  fact  that  she  found 
Mrs.  Lynch  working  in  the  shed  where  big  Danny 
could  not  hear  them,  made  it  much  easier  for  Robin 
to  talk  and  talk  she  did,  so  rapidly  and  so  imploringly 
that  Mrs.  Moira  had  to  interject  more  than  once: 
"Now  wait  a  bit,  dearie.  What  was  that  again?" 

Robin  wanted  to  know  about  how  many  Mill 
children  there  were. 

"Oh,  bless  the  heart  of  you,  it's  no  one  but  the 
doctor  himself  can  tell  you  that!  They  slip  in  and 
out  of  the  world  as  quiet  like.  But  Mrs.  Whaley 
says  the  school's  so  full  that  her  Tommy  can  only 

go  afternoons." 
10 


I46  RED-ROBIN 

Robin  remembered  Beryl  pointing  out  a  dingy 
brick  building  as  the  schoolhouse.  It  had  a  play- 
yard  enclosed  on  three  sides  with  a  high  board  fence, 
disfigured  by  much  scrawling.  It  had  seemed  an  ugly 
spot.  She  thought  of  that  now. 

"And  what  do  the  girls — the  girls  like  me — do?" 

"Oh,  they  mostly  work.  After  work?  Well, 
they  help  at  home  and  do  a  bit  of  sewing  maybe  and 
some  have  beaux  and  they  walk  down  to  the  drug 
store  and  hang  around  there  visiting,  though  Beryl 
doesn't.  'Tisn't  much  of  a  life  a  girl  in  a  place  like 
this  has,"  and  Mrs.  Moira's  sigh  was  happily  reminis- 
cent of  her  own  girlhood  in  open  clean  spaces,  "it's 
old  they  grow  before  their  time." 

''They  don't  have  much  fun,  do  they?"  Robin 
asked. 

Mrs.  Lynch  looked  at  her  curiously.  "Fun? 
They  work  so  hard  that  they  haven't  the  gumption 
to  start  the  fun.  But  it's  so  big  the  world  is,  Miss 
Robin,  that  it  can't  all  be  rosy.  Sure,  there  has  to 
be  some  dark  corners." 

"Mrs.  Lynch,  if — if — someone  started  the  fun 
for  the  girls — would  they  like  it?" 

"Why,  what's  on  your  mind,  dearie?  The  likes 
of  you  worryin'  your  little  head  over  things  you  don't 
know  anything  about!" 

Robin  could  have  cried  with  vexation.  She 
must  make  Mrs.  Lynch  understand  her — Mrs.  Lynch 


ROBIN  WRITES  A  LETTER          147 

was  her  one  hope.  She  gave  a  little  stamp  of  her 
foot  as  she  burst  out :  "I'm  little  but  that's  no  reason 
I  can't  think  of  things.  I'm  fifteen.  Dale  said  that 
the  Forsyth's  didn't  care  and  they  ought  to  care — 
and  I'm  a  Forsyth.  I  want  to  know  everyone  in  the 
Mill  neighborhood  and  how  they  live  and  what  they 
do.  And  I  want  them  to  have — fun.  Beryl  said 
your  Miss  Lewis  said  everyone  ought  to  have  fun. 
I — I  don't  know  just  how  to  begin — but  I'm, 
going  to." 

Mrs.  Moira  patted  her  hand.  To  herself  she  was 
saying :  "The  blessed  heart  of  her,  she  doesn't  even 
know  what  she's  talking  about,  poor  lamb,"  but  aloud : 
"That  you  shall  and  if  I  can  help  you,  I  will.'* 

Robin's  eyes  glowed.  "Oh,  thank  you.  You 
don't  know  how  hard  it  is  for  me  to  think  just  what 
to  do.  Lovely  plans  keep  popping  into  my  head  and 
then  I  think  maybe  they're  silly  and  I  can't  tell  about 
them — I  just  have  to  feel  them.  I'd  like  to  begin 
with  the  little  children.  If  my  guardian  says  we 
may,  can't  we  open  that  old  cottage  down  by  the 
bridge  and  make  it  into  a — a  sort  of  play-house? 
There  could  be  a  play-yard  and  next  spring  we  could 
make  gardens  and  we  could  fix  one  room  up  with 
pretty  pictures  and  have  books  and  games — and  a 
fire-place  and  window-seats.  Oh,  does  that  sound 
silly?"  Robin  brought  her  enthusiasm  to  an  abrupt, 
imploring  finish. 


148  RED-ROBIN 

"Dearie  me — no."  There  were  no  reserves  in 
Mrs.  Moira's  approval.  With  an  imagination  as 
quick  as  Robin's  she  saw  the  old  cottage — it  was  a 
charming  old  house,  snuggled  under  elms,  half- 
covered  in  summer  with  rambling  vines  and  pink 
blossoms — alive  with  romping,  happy-voiced  children, 
some  poring  over  pretty  picture-books,  others  listen- 
ing to  a  story,  some  working  in  a  garden — some 
just  tumbling  about  on  the  soft  grass  in  a  pure 
exuberance  of  youthful  joy. 

"We'll  call  it  the  House  of  Laughter.  I  always 
think  of  names  before  anything  else.  And  maybe, 
some  day,  the  older  girls — girls  like  me — will  use  it, 
too.  I'd  like  to  begin  by  knowing  little  Susy  Castle." 

Mrs.  Lynch  promised  to  take  her  the  next  day 
to  the  old  village  where  Susy  lived. 

"I'll  come  down  right  after  our  school  work  is 
over.  Beryl  won't  mind  because  she'll  want  to  prac- 
tice. And,  please,  Mrs.  Lynch,  don't  tell  Dale, 
^rillyou?" 

Mrs.  Lynch  demurred  at  this,  for  already  she  had 
been  looking  forward  to  telling  Dale  about  Robin 
and  her  plans.  But  Robin  stood  firm. 

"You  see  I  may  spoil  everything  and  he'd  think 
I  was  just  stupid.  I  don't  want  him  to  know — yet." 

Robin  walked  back  to  the  Manor  with  a  light 
heart.  Her  world  that  had  always  seemed  so  small, 
bounded  on  its  every  side  by  Jimmie,  now  suddenly 


ROBIN  WRITES  A  LETTER          149 

assumed  limitless  proportions  and  beautiful  possi- 
bilities. There  was  so  much  to  be  done  and  so  much 
to  think  about.  Tomorrow  she  would  see  Susy 
Castle;  maybe  other  boys  and  girls. 

Lights  were  twinkling  from  some  of  the  windows 
of  the  Manor.  Robin  paused  for  a  moment  at  the 
bottom  of  the  long  ascent  to  "love"  the  Manor  in 
its  purple  cloak  of  gathering  dusk.  That  first 
Forsyth  who  had  broken  ground  for  this  gray  pile 
had  chosen  well;  the  hill  upon  which  the  house  had 
been  built  stood  apart  from  the  other  hills,  loftily 
commanding  the  village  and  valley. 

"It  looks  just  like  a  grand  old  lady  holding  off 
her  skirts  so's  not  to  touch  anything,"  Robin  thought, 
now,  whimsically. 

As  though  to  crown  her  day's  progress  toward 
"being  "  a  Forsyth,  Robin  found  a  letter  from  her 
guardian  awaiting  her.  Cornelius  Allendyce  had 
written  it  keeping  in  mind  his  sister's  advice  not  to 
notice  a  girl's  "foibles" — "it's  one  thing  today  and 
another  tomorrow." 

" 1  am  delighted  that  you  are  happy  and  finding  so  much 

to  occupy  your  time.  Do  not  worry  about  your  lessons.  Not 
all  knowledge  is  confined  within  the  covers  of  school  books. 
(He  had  read  that  somewhere  and  thought  it  came  in  very 
pat,  now.)  How  about  some  sort  of  a  party.  You  ought 
to  know  the  people  of  the  country  before  the  winter  sets  in. 
Think  it  over  and  decide  what  you  want.  I  will  double  your 
allowance  if  you  haven't  enough.  If  you  need  a  club  to  make 


i$o  RED-ROBIN 

you  happy,  help  yourself.  Don't  worry  about  the  Mills — let 
Norris  do  that.  I'll  run  up  to  Wassumsic  very  soon  and 
answer  as  many  questions  as  you  may  wish  to  ask.  Until 
then,  I  am 

Devotedly  yours, 

CORNELIUS  ALLENDYCE." 

"Beryl — read  this!  I  may  use  that  old  cottage. 
I  believe  my  guardian' 11  do  everything  I  ask  when 
he  understands.  He's  a  dear!" 

Beryl  came  slowly  down  from  her  "clouds." 

"Robin — listen  to  this  vibrato!" 


CHAPTER  XIII 

SUSY    CASTLE 

THE  Forsyth  Mills  had  built  Wassumsic — in 
truth,  Wassumsic  was  the  Forsyth's  Mills.  It  had 
had  its  beginning  in  that  first  small  mill  where  the 
first  Forsyth  worked  in  his  shirt-sleeves ;  a  cluster  of 
houses  had  sprung  up  close  to  the  river,  a  store,  more 
houses,  more  stores,  a  tavern,  a  church,  a  school. 
And  as  the  Mills  grew,  so  grew  the  village.  For 
themselves  the  Forsyth  family  had  built  the  stone 
house  on  the  hill,  that  looked,  indeed,  like  a  grand 
old  woman  holding  off  her  skirts  from  contamination. 
And  that  lofty  apartness  had  always  been  the  attitude 
of  the  Forsyth  family  to  the  workaday  life  in 
the  village. 

The  growth  of  the  village  had  been  toward  the 
railroad  so  that  the  first  Mill  houses  had  been  left 
by  themselves  "up  the  river"  and  were  commonly 
known  as  the  "old  village."  They  were  so  old  that 
they  were  not  worth  keeping  in  repair  and  so  close 
to  the  river  that  they  were  damp  the  year  round 
and  for  these  very  good  reasons  were  offered  to  the 
mill  workers  at  a  low  rental.  Many  of  the  mill 
workers — such  as  Dale — looked  upon  them  as  a  dis- 
grace to  the  Mills  and  felt  a  hot  anger  in  their 
hearts  when  they  thought  of  them — but  unfortunates 
like  the  Castles  were  glad  to  move  into  the  worst 

of  them. 

151 


152  RED-ROBIN 

The  short  walk  from  the  Mills  to  the  old  village 
skirted  the  river  and  was  overhung  with  a  double 
row  of  willows  which,  on  this  wintry  day,  cast  long 
purple  shadows.  Robin,  walking  along  it  with  Mrs. 
Lynch,  thought  it  lovely  and  solemn — like  a  cathedral 
aisle.  But  when  they  stopped  before  a  low  cottage, 
one  window  nailed  across  with  boards  where  the 
panes  were  missing,  the  front  door  propped  in  place 
by  a  rotting  rail  tie,  tin  cans  and  frozen  refuse  litter- 
ing the  strip  of  yard,  and  Mrs.  Lynch  said  "This  is 
the  house,"  she  wanted  to  cry  out  in  protest  at  the 
ugliness.  They  had  to  pick  their  way  around  to  a 
back  door  upon  which  Mrs.  Lynch  knocked.  Several 
moments  elapsed  before  the  door  swung  back  a  little 
way,  a  round  black  eye  peered  at  them  cautiously 
and  a  shrill  voice  piped  "whachy'want  ?" 

"I  s'pose  that's  Susy,"  thought  Robin,  her  heart 
skipping  a  beat  with  a  terror  of  shyness. 

Mrs.  Lynch's  pleasant :  "We  want  to  see  Granny," 
admitted  them.  Robin,  blinded  for  the  first  moment 
of  coming  into  the  darkness  of  the  room  from  the 
bright  sunshine  outside,  stumbled  over  a  chair  and 
in  her  confusion  mumbled  some  incoherent  answer 
to  the  shrill  cackle  of  welcome  that  came  from  the 
shrunken  bit  of  humanity  bending  over  a  small  stove. 

"Poor  Granny  doesn't  understand  who  you  are," 
explained  Mrs.  Lynch,  in  an  apologetic  whisper, 
touching  her  head  significantly.  "Come  here,  Susy," 
and  she  motioned  the  staring  child  to  her.  Susy  ap- 


SUSY  CASTLE  153 

proached  with  the  hang-back  step  of  a  child  or  a  dog 
not  always  certain  of  what  he  may  get  but  Mrs. 
Lynch  magically  produced  a  round  cookie,  fat  with 
currants,  and  Susy  sprang  at  her  with  a  quick  leap. 

The  room  was  heavy  with  stale  air  and  bare  of 
any  comforts.  A  tattered  First  Reader  lay  on  the 
greasy  floor,  unwashed  dishes  cluttered  the  bare  pine 
table,  on  every  available  shelf  and  in  every  corner 
were  piled  old  cans  and  bottles  and  half -rilled  paper 
bags.  On  a  what-not  in  the  corner  a  faded  bunch 
of  pink  paper  roses  drooped  over  a  cracked  vase. 
The  wallpaper,  its  ugly  pattern  mercifully  faded,  was 
fantastically  streaked  from  the  dampness,  in  one 
corner  the  ceiling  plaster  had  fallen  and  newspapers 
had  been  tacked  over  the  laths  to  keep  out  the  cold. 

A  sickening  revulsion,  a  longing  to  escape  into 
the  sweet  crisp  air  swept  Robin.  She  shrank  away 
into  a  corner  for  fear  the  dreadful  old  Granny  might 
touch  her.  But  she  must  say  something!  She  had 
come  here  for  a  purpose — to  know  Susy. 

At  that  moment  Susy's  voice  pealed  out  in  a 
merry,  piping  laugh — because  she  had  put  her  small 
finger  into  her  cookie  and  pulled  out  a  fat  round 
currant!  And  something  in  the  laugh  touched  the 
spark  to  the  mothering  instinct  strong  in  Robin's 
young  heart — the  mothering  instinct  that  had  caused 
her  bitter  anguish  over  Cynthia's  loss,  that  had 
taught  her  how  to  care  for  her  Jimmie,  and  had  given 
her  strength  to  run  away  from  her  Jimmie  that  he 


154  RED-ROBIN 

might  have  his  "chance."  She  forgot  the  dirty  sur- 
roundings, the  old  Granny  in  her  rags  and  her  crown 
of  wispy  gray  hail,  she  saw  only  the  child's  face, 
lightened  with  joy,  ana  laughed  with  Susy  as  Susy 
held  out  the  curranr  on  the  end  of  an  uplifted — and 
very  dirty — finger. 

The  ice  broken,  Susy  made  friends  quickly.  She 
kaned  her  thin  little  self  against  Robin's  knee  and 
stared  with  rapture  into  Robin's  face.  Like  Granny 
she  could  not  seem  to  realize  that  Robin  was  a 
Forsyth;  to  her  she  was  "a  big  girl"  and  big  girls 
did  not  come  to  the  house  now  that  Sarah  had  died. 
She  timidly  touched  Robin's  soft  coat  sleeve  with 
a  rough,  sticky  hand  and  poked  at  the  bright  buttons 
of  Robin's  blouse,  her  eyes  round  with  wonder. 

Afterward,  after  Robin  and  Mrs.  Lynch  had, 
with  some  difficulty,  broken  away  from  Susy's  cling- 
ing and  Granny's  childish  lamentations,  and  were 
walking  back  through  the  "cathedral  aisle"  Robin 
gave  herself  a  little  shake  as  though  to  rouse  herself 
from  some  nightmare. 

"Oh,  Mrs.  Lynch,  it's  dreadful!" 

"What,  dearie  ?"  Mrs.  Lynch  had  been  thinking 
that  Granny  Castle  couldn't  be  one  of  the  Castle's 
of  her  old-country  county. 

"That  place.  Are  they  all  like  that?  How  can 
they  live?" 

Mrs.  Lynch  hesitated  a  moment  and  there  was  a 
perceptible  tightening  of  her  tender  lips. 


SUSY  CASTLE  155 

"Well,  dearie,  people  have  to  live — life  goes  on 
in  spite  of  things.  Maybe  poor  old  Granny  wishes 
real  often  it'd  been  her  that  had  been  taken  instead 
of  that  poor  Sarah.  Things  weren't  so  bad  for  them 
when  Sarah  lived — they  say.  She  was  an  up-and- 
doing  girl  and  kept  things  nice  though  she  had  to 
work  hard  to  do  it,  poor  little  thing.  It's  in  the 
hospital  that  old  woman  should  be  with  some  one 
to  wait  on  her  and  keep  her  warm.  No  one  but 
little  Susy—" 

"I  forgot  all  I'd  planned  to  say!  Susy  looked 
so  cold,  Mrs.  Lynch.  I  hated  my  nice  warm  clothes." 

"Oh,  Susy  was  warm  enough.  She's  a  bright 
child,  she  is.  When  she's  a  bit  older  things  will 
ease  up." 

Robin  remembered  what  Beryl  had  said  of  the 
girls  in  Wassumsic  having  nothing  else  to  do  but 
go  into  the  Mills.  Susy  would  grow  older  and  take 
Sarah's  place.  But  what  if  she  didn't  want  to? 
What  happened  to  the  "big  girls"  who  didn't  want 
to  go  into  the  Mills?  Robin  could  hear  Beryl's 
contemptuous:  "Why  they  haven't  a  chance  in  the 
world."  Well,  anyway,  someone  could  make  the 
Mills  so  nice  that  the  girls  would  want  to  work  in 
them.  "I  wish  I  were  big!"  cried  Robin  with  such 
passion  that  Mrs.  Lynch,  not  knowing  her  train 
of  thought,  had  a  sudden  qualm  at  taking  a  sen- 
skive  little  thing  like  Miss  Robin  to  poor  old 
Granny  Castle's. 


156  RED-ROBIN 

"Now,  dearie,  don't  you  worry.  Things  come 
out  somehow — in  the  next  world  maybe  for  the 
Granny  Castles,  but  they  do.  Now  that  idea  of 
yours  of  fixing  that  cottage — " 

"Oh,  I  forgot  to  tell  you!  My  guardian  says  I 
may.  At  least  he  said  that  if  I  wanted  a  club,  to 
help  myself,  and  that  must  mean  he  consents.  He's 
a  dear.  Have  you  time  to  go  there  with  me  now  and 
just  peek  into  it?  I'm  sure  we  can  get  in." 

"I'll  take  the  time,"  cried  Mrs.  Moira  with  an 
interest  as  eager  as  Robin's.  "I'll  just  drop  in  and 
tell  my  Danny  when  we  go  past — it's  so  lonesome 
he  gets  when  I'm  slow  coming." 

Robin's  House  of  Laughter  looked  a  little  de- 
serted standing  alone  in  the  shadow  of  the  hillside, 
gaunt  branches  creaking  over  its  low  roof,  the  ends 
of  the  trailing  vines  whipping  restlessly  against 
the  gray  clapboards.  But  Robin  and  Mrs.  Lynch 
saw  it  as  they  wanted  it  to  be — neatly  painted,  its 
windows  curtained,  its  yard  trimmed,  its  doorstep 
dignified  by  a  broad  inviting  step,  and  flanked  by  a 
trellis  for  the  rambling  rose  vine.  The  door  opened 
for  them  in  the  most  promising  way  and  they  tip- 
toed into  a  big  bare  room  with  two  windows  at  one 
end  looking  out  over  the  hills  and  river. 

"Isn't  this  nice?"  cried  Robin  in  delighted  stac- 
cato. "It's  just  made  for  what  we  want.  Look — 
a  fireplace !"  To  be  sure,  it  was  nothing  more  than 
a  gap  in  the  wall.  "And  these  darling  windows. 


SUSY  CASTLE  157 

We  can  put  a  seat  way  across,  all  comfy."  She 
promptly  saw,  in  her  mind,  Susy  curled  upon  it  with 
a  beautiful  picture  book  and  a  handful  of  cookies. 
"Oh,  let's  see  the  rest.  Look,  a  cunning  kitchen. 
The  children  can  play  cooking.  And  this  room — 
what  can  we  use  this  room  for?" 

Mrs.  Lynch  was  thinking  rapidly.  Because  of 
her  experience  with  Miss  Lewis  she  saw  possibilities 
way  beyond  Robin's  eager  planning — class  rooms 
where  the  older  girls  could  learn  other  trades — a 
domestic  science  class  in  the  kitchen  for  the  mothers 
— a  sewing  room,  a  library  full  of  instructive  and 
entertaining  books,  and  the  big  living  room  where 
the  children  could  gather  after  school  hours,  and 
the  men  and  women  and  big  boys  and  girls  in  the 
evening.  And  a  playground  outside — and  gardens. 

"Can't  we  fix  it  up  right  away?"  Robin's  eager 
questioning  brought  her  sharply  out  of  her  dream  to 
a  practical  realization  that  all  the  House  of  Laughter 
had  as  endowment  was  an  unselfish  girl's  enthusiasm. 

"Harkness  will  help  if  I  ask  him  and  maybe 
Williams,  too.  And  Mrs.  Williams." 

"It's  quite  tidy  for  standing  empty  so  long," 
mused  Mrs.  Lynch,  sweeping  the  bare  rooms  with 
an  appraising  eye.  "That  stove's  good  as  new  under 
the  rust." 

"Oh,  you  will  help,  won't  you?  I  can't  do  any- 
thing without  you." 

"That  I  will,  Miss  Robin."     Mrs.  Moira  prom- 


158  RED-ROBIN 

ised  with  no  thought  of  the  added  tax  it  must  be 
on  her  energy.  "It's  a  beginning  everything  has  to 
have  and  you  get  your  Harkness  man  and  some 
brooms  and  some  soap  and  we'll  have  your  little 
House  of  Laughter  ready  to  begin  in  no  time." 

A  half  hour  later  Robin  burst  upon  Beryl  absorbed 
in  her  practicing. 

"Oh,  please  listen,"  she  cried  and  without  waiting 
for  encouragement  poured  out  her  precious  plans. 
Beryl  obediently  listened  but  with  an  odd  surprise 
tugging  at  her  attentiveness — this  Robin  seemed  dif- 
ferent, full  of  a  fire  that  was  quite  new,  and  all  over 
fixing  up  that  old  place  for  the  Mill  kids.  To  Beryl, 
wrapped  in  her  own  precious  ambition,  that  seemed 
a  ridiculous  waste  of  energy.  However  she  con- 
cealed her  scorn,  affected  a  lively  interest  and  put 
in  a  few  helpful  suggestions. 

"Mr.  Tubbs  has  been  hunting  for  you,"  she  sud- 
denly informed  Robin.  "I  heard  him  talking  to 
Harkness  about  a  party.  Your  guardian's  written 
to  him,  I  guess." 

"Oh,  dear!"  cried  Robin,  in  dismay.  She  re- 
membered what  Mr.  Allendyc.e  had  written  to  her. 
A  party  would  be  terrible ! 

"I  should  think  you'd  think  it  was  fun — and  with 
all  your  pretty  clothes.  It's  exciting  meeting  people, 
too.  If  /  were  you — " 

Beryl  simply  wouldn't  finish — there  were  so  many 
things  she  would  do  if  she  were  Gordon  Forsyth, 
she  could  not  begin  to  name  them. 


SUSY  CASTLE  159 

Robin's  doleful  face  betrayed  her  state  of  mind. 

"What  will  I  have  to  do?" 

"That  depends  upon  what  kind  of  a  party  it  is." 
Beryl  felt  flattered  that  Robin  should  appeal  to  her. 
"And  I  should  think  you'd  have  the  say.  /  certainly 
would.  Receptions  are  stiff  and  dinners  aren't  much 
fun.  I  think  a  dance — " 

"But  I  can't  dance.  And  I  never  went  to  a  young 
party  in  my  life!" 

"Well,  you're  Gordon  Forsyth,  now,  and  you'll 
have  to  do  lots  of  things  you  never  did  before," 
reminded  Beryl,  a  comical  sternness  edging  her  voice. 

An  hour  before,  in  her  empty  Plouse  of  Laughter, 
poor  Robin  had  thrilled  at  the  thought  of  "being" 
a  Forsyth;  now,  alas,  her  heart  sank  to  her  boots 
under  the  weight  of  these  new  obligations  she  must 
face.  Nor  was  she  cheered  when  Mr.  Tubbs  found 
her  and  laid  his  plans  before  her.  Mr.  Tubbs,  short 
of  memory,  always  carried  his  thoughts  on  neat  little 
slips  of  paper  over-written  with  memoranda.  He 
fluttered  some  of  these  now  before  Robin's  eyes  and 
Robin  saw  that  they  contained  lists  of  names. 

"A  party — your  guardian  is  quite  right — we  were 
remiss — of  course  Madame  would  have  wished — in 
the  old  days — it  must  be  at  least  an  at-home — yes,  an 
at-home — I  have  found  the  cards  of  the  best  people 
of  the  county  in  Madame's  desk — Harkness  will 
know  who  of  them  have  died — yes,  an  at-home,  say 
from  four  to  seven — Mr.  Allendyce  and  his  sister 
will  come  to  help  you  receive — I  will  talk  to  Budge— 


160  RED-ROBIN 

yes — "  Mr.  Tubbs  rarely  finished  a  sentence.  He 
always  spoke  as  though  he  were  thinking  memoranda 
aloud,  and  punctuated  his  words  with  little  tugs  at  his 
silky  Van  Dyke  beard. 

Robin  had  a  rebellious  impulse  to  snatch  the 
fluttering  lists  from  his  long  ringers  and  tear  the 
"best  people  of  the  county"  into  tiny  bits  but  she 
remembered  what  Beryl  had  said  about  a  Forsyth 
having  to  do  many  things,  smothered  a  sigh,  and 
said  meekly:  "I  don't  know  much  about  parties," 

"My  dear  young  lady,  experience  will  teach  you. 
They  are  important — yes,  for  one  of  your  station — 
important  as  your  books.  I  will  see  Budge — about 
the  date — yes." 

"Old  grandmother!"  cried  Beryl,  as  Mr.  Tubbs 
went  off  in  search  of  the  housekeeper.  "An  at-home !" 
She  mimicked  his  precise  tones.  "Of  all  the  tiresome 
things.  He'll  invite  a  lot  of  doddering  old  women 
who'll  come  and  look  you  over  this  way!"  Beryl 
lifted  an  imaginary  lorgnette  to  her  eyes.  "Why 
didn't  you  say  you'd  like  a  regular  party  and  just 
have  young  people — there's  a  boys'  school  only  ten 
miles  from  here  and  it  would  have  been  such  fun. 
Of  course  I  couldn't  have  come  down  but  I  could 
watch  you — " 

"Beryl  Lynch,  you  are  coming  down  or  I  won't 
stir  one  foot.  You  shall  pick  out  one  of  my  dresses 
and  we'll  make  it  longer  or  something.  And  I  think 
a  party  with  boys  I  don't  know  would  be  lots  more 


SUSY  CASTLE  161 

terrible  than  an  at-home.  All  I  hope  is  that  he  makes 
the  date  soon  so  that  it  will  be  over  with." 

Percival  Tubbs,  inwardly  much  annoyed  at  hav- 
ing the  peaceful  routine  of  his  days  at  the  Manor 
thus  disturbed,  was  as  anxious  as  Robin  to  have 
the  party  over  with.  After  due  deliberation  with 
Mrs.  Budge  he  fixed  the  date  for  a  day  two  weeks 
ahead.  Mrs.  Budge  insisted  she  needed  that  much 
time  to  make  "things  look  like  anything." 

Budge  and  Harkness  welcomed  the  party  as  a 
beginning  of  the  "change"  they  had  prayed  might 
come  to  Gray  Manor. 

"It'll  be  some'at  like  old  times,"  Harkness  had 
declared. 

"That  chit  won't  look  like  much,"  (poor  Budge 
had  not  yet  forgiven  Robin  for  being  a  girl)  "but 
it'll  make  talk  if  she  ain't  shown.  Talk  enough  for 
Madame  going  away  like  she  did.  I've  half  a  mind 
to  get  out  the  gold  plate.  That  old  Mis'  Crosswaithe 
from  Sharon'll  be  over  here  the  first  of  any,  peeking 
around  and  she  ain't  going  to  see  how  things  are 
going  to  sixes  and  sevens.  No  one  else  ain't  either 
or  my  name  ain't  Hannah  Budge.  It  ain't."  And 
Budge  squared  her  shoulders  as  a  challenge  to  an 
inquisitive  world. 

Harkness,     while    he    anxiously    watched    the 

weather,  grew  loquacious  over  the  old  times.     "This 

house  has  known  great  parties,  missy,"  he  told  Robin. 

"The  best  lydies  from  miles  'round  coming  in  their 

11 


1 62  RED-ROBIN 

carriages.  The  Crosswaithes,  from  Sharon,  before 
old  Mr.  Crosswaithe  died.  And  the  Cullens  and  the 
Grangers — she  as  was  the  daughter  of  a  gov'nor. 
The  Manor  was  the  finest  place  in  the  county  and 
things  were  done  right  here  and  as  gay  as  could  be." 
He  launched  forth  on  a  long  description  of  Christo- 
pher the  Third's  eighteenth  birthday  party.  "He 
come  up  from  school,  missy,  with  his  friends  and  the 
young  lydies  come  from  New  York  and  some  from 
these  parts  and  the  house  was  as  gay,  what  with 
flowers  and  palms  and  music  and  their  talk.  And 
the  young  master's  table  was  laid  in  the  conservatory 
— and  the  olders  sat  in  the  dining-room  and  Held 
come  from  New  York — the  best  caterer,  missy — " 

Robin  and  Beryl  listened  with  breathless  interest 
• — Robin  with  a  moment's  vision  of  that  handsome 
lad  laughing  and  talking  with  the  "young  lydies  from 
New  York."  How  dreadful,  she  thought,  that  only 
a  few  months  after  that  brilliant  affair  he  should 
have  been  killed — he  would  have  been  about  twenty- 
four,  now — and  would  have  been  such  a  splendid 
Forsyth,  while  she  was  so  small  and  insignificant. 

"These  automobiles  are  all  very  well,  missy,  but 
if  it  snows — "  and  Harkness  scowled  through  the 
window  at  the  darkening  sky. 

"Do  you  mean,  if  it  snows — no  one  will  come?" 

"I'm  not  thinking  that,  missy,  but  not  so  many — • 
the  Grangers  and  their  young  people." 

Robin  refrained  from  saying  she  hoped  it  would 


SUSY  CASTLE  163 

snow,  for  if  Harkness  and  Budge  enjoyed  fussing 
over  the  dreadful  party  she  did  not  want  to  spoil 
their  anticipation. 

The  entire  house  seemed  ridiculously  astir  over 
the  approaching  event;  extra  help  came  from  the 
village,  the  air  throbbed  with  the  hum  of  vacuum 
cleaners,  chairs  and  tables  were  beaten  with  a  fren- 
zied thoroughness,  tables  polished,  everything  dusted. 
Certainly,  no  one  was  going  to  see  that  things  were 
going  to  sixes  and  sevens ! 

Robin  and  Beryl  busied  themselves  making  over 
one  of  Robin's  dresses  for  Beryl,  a  process  to  which 
Beryl  consented  only  after  a  stormy  scene  and  tears 
on  Robin's  part. 

Robin's  plans  for  her  House  of  Laughter  had  to 
be  tucked  away  for  the  time,  and  when  she  sighed 
now  and  then  over  her  ripping  and  stitching  it  was 
because  she'd  so  much  rather  be  making  frilly,  crispy 
curtains  for  those  little  windows. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

A    GIFT    TO    THE    QUEEN 

BY  no  means  had  the  girls  forgotten  their  Dowa- 
ger Queen  of  Altruria.  They  talked  of  her  often; 
Beryl  usually  in  a  speculative  vein.  Had  she  brought 
the  court  jewels  with  her  ?  Did  that  dreadful  Brina 
kneel  on  one  knee  and  kiss  the  hem  of  her  garment? 
Did  she  ever  wear  her  crown? 

Royalty  meant  much  more  to  Beryl  than  it  did 
to  Robin,  for  Beryl  attached  to  it  a  personal  interest. 
Would  she  not,  as  sure  as  anything,  sometime  play 
before  crowned  heads  by  royal  command?  Some- 
times, lying  wide-eyed  in  the  dark,  she  pictured  her- 
self at  such  a  moment,  gorgeously  gowned,  and 
delightfully  disdainful  of  the  bejeweled,  becrowned, 
stately  kings  and  queens  and  little  princelings,  dukes 
and  duchesses  and  earls  and  countesses,  all  hanging  on 
the  exquisite  notes  she  drew  from  her  strings.  After 
she  finished  they  would  forget  their  crowns  and 
things  and  fall  upon  her  in  a  sort  of  humble  adora- 
tion. Beryl  shivered  exquisitely,  she  could  make  the 
picture  so  very  real!  Now,  when  she  dreamed,  the 
queens  and  duchesses  looked  like  the  mysterious  mis- 
tress of  the  house  by  the  Rushing  Water. 

Robin  thought  of  their  Dowager  Queen  of  Al- 
truria as  perhaps  being  a  little  lonely,  sometimes. 
With  everyone,  now,  watching  the  weather  in  anxious 
164 


A  GIFT  TO  THE  QUEEN  165 

dread  of  a  snowstorm,  it  occurred  to  her  that  such 
a  storm  would  shut  the  little  house  near  the  Rushing 
Water  off  from  the  world. 

"Beryl,  let's  go  and  see  our  Dowager!  It  may 
be  the  last  time  we  can  until  Spring.  I'd  like  to  take 
her  something,  too.  Something  Christmasy.  Christ- 
mas is  only  two  weeks  off  and  think  how  dreadful 
to  spend  Christmas  all  by  yourself." 

Beryl  thought  both  the  visit  and  the  gift  a  fine 
idea  and  set  her  wits  to  working  to  contrive  an  offer- 
ing suitable  for  one  of  the  Dowager's  station  in  life. 

She  suggested  helping  themselves  to  what  the 
Manor  had  to  offer,  for,  certainly,  Robin,  being  a 
Forsyth,  had  such  a  "right." 

"Flowers  and  fruit  and  maybe  a  book.  It  would 
never  be  missed  and  you  could  take  one  of  these  that 
hasn't  anything  written  in  the  front.  See,  here's  a 
collection  of  Dante's  poems — it's  as  good  as  new. 
And  who'd  ever  want  it  with  all  these  other 
books  here?" 

Beryl's  reasoning  seemed  logical  and  Robin  put 
aside  a  tiny  doubt  she  had  as  to  her  right  to  "help 
herself"  to  even  a  very  small  volume.  Some  day  she 
could  explain  to  her  Aunt  Mathilde  that  she  had  given 
it  to  a  nice  old  lady  who  lived  all  alone. 

The  girls  filled  a  huge  basket  with  luscious  fruit 
from  Budge's  storehouse,  and  gay  flowers  from  the 
conservatory,  and  concealed  the  little  book  under  the 
bright  foliage.  They  decided,  after  much  delibcra- 


166  RED-ROBIN 

tion,  to  let  Williams  into  their  secret,  and  show  him 
their  offering,  so  that  he  would  surely  consent  to 
drive  them  to  Rushing  Waters. 

"We'll  just  about  get  it  in  before  the  snow 
comes,"  agreed  Williams,  scanning  the  sky  with  that 
anxiety  to  which  Robin  had  grown  very  familiar.  "A 
Queen,  you  say?  Well,  what  do  you  think  of  that !" 
He  laughed  uproariously. 

"We're  not  exactly  sure,  but  we  have  our  sus- 
picions," corrected  Beryl  in  a  freezing  tone. 

"And  please  don't  tell  a  soul  because  we  really 
have  no  right  to  force  ourselves  on  her  if  she  wants 
to  hide  away,"  begged  Robin. 

Williams  promised  with  a  chuckle.  "Funny 
kids,"  he  said  to  himself,  enjoying,  nevertheless,  the 
adventure.  "I'll  do  the  sleuth  stuff  in  the  corner 
store  while  you  two  are  interviewing  the  Duchess — 
I  beg  pardon,  the  Queen." 

The  girls  left  Williams,  as  he  suggested,  at  the 
little  store,  while  they,  tugging  their  basket  between 
them,  found  and  followed  the  path  by  the  Rushing 
Water.  It  was  as  alluring  as  ever — berries  still  clung 
to  the  undergrowth,  gleaming  red  against  the  dark 
of  the  fir  trees;  the  dead  leaves  underfoot  crackled 
softly  as  though  protesting  their  intrusion;  there  was 
a  whirring  of  wings  and  always  the  rush  of  the  water. 

"I'd  forgotten  how  spooky  it  was,"  cried  Beryl, 
drawing  in  her  breath. 

"I  hope  she  won't  be  sorry  we  came." 

This  time   Robin  knocked.     As  before,  Brina 


A  GIFT  TO  THE  QUEEN  167 

opened  the  door  a  little  way.  When  she  saw  the 
two  girls  she  scowled,  but  stepped  backward,  announo 
ing  their  presence  in  crisp  German. 

The  mistress  of  the  house  rose  a  little  hastily 
from  the  table  before  which  she  was  sitting.  She 
was  dressed,  now,  in  a  warm,  trailing  robe  of  soft 
velvet,  a  band  of  ermine  circling  her  neck  and  cross- 
ing over  her  breast,  where  it  was  held  in  place  by 
a  brooch  of  flashing  gems.  At  sight  of  her  visitors 
her  face  softened  from  haughty  surprise  to  a  resigned 
amusement.  Robin  broke  the  silence. 

"May  we  come  in?  We  thought  we'd  like — that 
maybe  you'd  like — "  Oh,  it  was  dreadful  to  know 
what  to  say,  when  all  the  time  you  were  thinking  she 
really  was  a  Queen! 

"You  have  stumbled  upon  my  little  house  again? 
Come  in  and  sit  down.  Brina  and  I  do  not  often 
have  callers;  you  must  pardon  us  if,  perhaps,  we  are 
a  little  awkward  in  our  hospitality.  Caesar,  lie  down 
He  is  glad  to  see  you!  I  have  been  looking  over  a 
book  of  colored  prints  of  old  cathedrals.  Would  you 
like  to  pull  your  chairs  up  to  the  table  and  look  at 
them  with  me  ?" 

Beryl  blinked  knowingly  at  Robin  as  much  as  to 
say :  "Isn't  that  just  what  an  exiled  Queen  would 
t>e  doing?"  The  prints  were  rare  and  exceedingly 
lovely  and  Robin  noticed  that  they  had  come  from 
a  New  York  gallery.  Their  hostess  told  them  of 
some  of  the  quaint  cathedral  towns  and  the  stories 
of  the  cathedrals  themselves.  Robin,  who  had  an 


1 68  RED-ROBIN 

inherited  appreciation  of  beauty,  listened  eagerly, 
putting  in  now  and  then  a  question  or  a  statement  of 
such  intelligence  that  the  "Dowager  Queen"  studied 
her  with  interest. 

Beryl,  thrilled  by  the  ermine  and  the  gleaming 
brooch,  did  not  care  a  fig  about  the  cathedrals  but  sat 
back  in  a  rapture  of  speculation.  There  seemed 
something  in  the  stately  head  with  its  crown  of  white 
hair,  vaguely,  tantalizingly  familiar;  she  must  have 
seen  pictures  of  the  Queen  of  Altruria  somewhere. 
She  watched  each  gesture  and  fitted  it  to  her  dream. 
This  Queen  who  seemed  really  truly  friendly  now  and 
almost  human,  might  go  back  some  day  to  Altruria, 
wherever  that  was,  and  of  course,  when  she  toured 
Europe,  or  maybe  even  when  she  was  there  studying, 
she  could  go  and  stay  at  the  Palace  just  like  a  relative. 
It  would  be  fun  to  visit  in  a  palace  and  smile  at  all 
the  fuss  and  crowns  and  things  because  you  were  an 
American  and  didn't  believe  in  them. 

"Oh,  we  forgot  our  basket!"  cried  Robin,  sud- 
denly darting  to  the  door  where  Brina  had.  with  a 
sniff,  dropped  their  precious  offering.  "We  brought 
these — for  a  Christmas  greeting." 

"They  are  lovely,"  cried  the  "Queen"  with  sincere 
delight,  her  eyes  drinking  in  hungrily  the  beauty  of 
the  exotic  blossoms — for  Robin  and  Beryl  had  helped 
themselves  to  the  best  the  Manor  had.  "And  fruit — 
ah,  Brina's  heart  will  rejoice.  What  is  this?"  Her 
slender,  shapely  hands  fussed  over  the  wrappings  of 
the  book,  while  Robin  and  Beryl  watched. 


A  GIFT  TO  THE  QUEEN  169 

"Why — "  The  Queen  turned  the  book  over  and 
over,  her  face  bent  so  that  its  expression  was  hidden. 
The  girls'  delight  gave  way,  now,  to  concern — the 
Queen  held  the  book  so  long  and  with  such  curious 
intentness  that  they  wondered,  anxiously,  if  there 
were  anything  about  Dante's  verses  displeasing  to 
a  Queen  of  Altruria.  "You  never  can  tell  about 
those  jealous  kingdoms  over  there!"  Beryl  said 
afterwards. 

After  their  hostess  had  "most  worn  the  book  out 
staring  at  it"  she  lifted  her  eyes  and  fixed  a  curious 
gaze  upon  her  visitors. 

"This  is  a  rare  little  treasure,"  she  said  in  a  queer 
tone.  "And  may  I  not  know  how  it  came  into  your 
possession — and  who  you  are?" 

Robin's  heart  jumped  into  her  throat.  What  had 
they  done?  It  had  looked  like  any  book  except  that 
the  leather  of  the  binding  seemed  softer  than  most 
books  and  smelled  very  nice  and  there  were  beautiful 
colored  illustrations  inside — but  the  Queen  said  it 
was  a  rare  book  and  was  wondering  where  they  had 
gotten  it.  Perhaps  they  had  helped  themselves  to  the 
Manor's  most  precious  book!  She  gulped,  looked 
frantically  at  Beryl,  who,  guessing  her  intention,  gave 
violent  signs  of  warning,  to  which  she  paid  no  heed. 
"Why,  I'm  Robin  Forsyth,  and  this  is  Beryl  Lynch 
who  lives  with  me  at  the  Manor.  We  took  the  book 
from  the  library  there  because  there  are  ever  and 
ever  so  many,  and  we  thought  you  might  be  lonely— 
when  winter  comes — and  enjoy  it" 


170  RED-ROBIN 

"You  are  Robin  Forsyth?"     The  old  lady  said 
the  words  slowly. 

"My   real   name   is   Gordon  Forsyth,   but   I've 
always  been  called  Red-Robin.     I'm  living  at  Gray 
Manor  now — over  in  Wassumsic.     My  father — he's 
not  one  of  the  rich  Forsyths,  you  see — is  an  artist 
and  he's  travelling  with  Mr.  Tony  Earle,  who  writes, 
you  know.     I  wish  you  could  come  to  the  Manor." 
Robin's  heart  was  light  now,  having,  by  confession, 
cleared  itself  of  its  moment's  dread,  and  she  rattled 
on,  quite  oblivious  to  Beryl's  scowl  and  the  Queen's 
searching  scrutiny.     "It's  lovely  and  old.     Madame 
Forsyth,  my  great-aunt,  isn't  there,  though — at  least 
now.     She's — she's  travelling.     We  have  a  tutor  and 
I  have  a  guardian  who  lets  me  do  about  what  I  please. 
You  see,  first  my  aunt  and  my  guardian  thought  I 
was  a  boy — the  Forsyths  have  always  been  boys; 
and  it  was  a  dreadful  shock,   I   guess,   when  my 
guardian  found  out  I  was  a  girl — and  such  a  small 
girl- — and  lame,  too.     I  think,  though,  he's  forgotten 
that,  now.     But  the  housekeeper  never  will  forgive 
me.     And  my  great-aunt  doesn't  know,  yet.     I  wish 
for  her  sake,  I  could  change  myself  into  a  handsome 
young  man  like  young  Christopher  Forsyth  who  died 
— but  I  can't,  so  I'm  just  going  to  be  as  good  a 
Forsyth  as  I  can  and  make  up  to  them  all  for — being 
a  girl." 

"Whom  do  you  mean — "them  all?"  asked  the 
Queen.     She  had  dropped  into  a  chair  and  turned 


A  GIFT  TO  THE  QUEEN  171 

her  head  toward  the  fire,  in  very  much  the  same 
attitude  she  had  held  upon  their  first  visit. 

Robin,  encouraged,  squatted  on  the  hearth  rug, 
the  big  dog  beside  her,  and  clasped  her  hands  over 
her  knee. 

"Oh,  I  don't  mean  just  Madame  Forsyth  and 
my  guardian,  though  I  don't  think  he  cares,  now,  or 
that  cross  old  housekeeper;  I  mean — all  the  Mill 
people.  You  see  the  Mills  have  grown  very  fast 
and  there  are  lots  and  lots  of  people  working  in  them, 
but  Mr.  Norris,  he's  the  superintendent,  is  very  old- 
fashioned  and  he'll  never  improve  things."  Robin 
racked  her  brains  to  recall  Dale's  and  Adam  Kraus' 
exact  words.  "He's  letting  the  people  live  in  awful 
houses  and  they  don't  have  any  fun  or — or  anything. 
And  Dale — he's  Beryl's  brother — says  they'd  work 
much  better  if  they  had  everything  nice.  He  says 
the  Forsyths  don't  care,  that  they  just  think  of  the 
Mill  people  as  parts  of  a  machine  to  make  money  for 
them,  and  not  as  human  beings.  Why,  there  was 
a  girl,  Sarah  Castle — "  and  Robin,  her  tongue  loosed, 
told  eloquently  of  Sarah  Castle  and  of  Susy  and 
Granny  and  the  old  cottage  "up  the  river,"  and  then — • 
because  it  made  it  seem  so  real  to  tell  about  it— of  her 
House  of  Laughter. 

"Of  course,"  she  finished,  "  if  I  were  a  boy  I 
could  do  much  more — or  even  if  I  were  big.  You 
see,  there's  been  what  Mr.  Harkness  calls  a  gloom 
over  the  Manor  for  a  long  time ;  and  my  great-aunt's 


172  RED-ROBIN 

been  so  sad  over  that  that  she  couldn't  think  of  any- 
thing else — and  maybe  I'll  be  doing  something  if 
I  just  show  the  Mill  people  that  a  Forsyth,  even 
if  she's  only  a  girl,  does  care — a  little  bit.  Don't  you 
think  so?" 

At  her  appeal  the  Dowager  Queen  turned  such  a 
haughty  face  upon  her  and  answered  in  such  a  cold 
voice :  "I'm  sure  I  do  not  know,"  that  Robin  turned 
crimson  with  embarrassment.  Of  course,  a  Queen 
could  not  even  be  remotely  interested  in  the  Manor 
and  the  Mills — especially  if  she  had  to  worry  over  a 
whole  kingdom  herself.  She  had  been  silly  to  rattle 
on  the  way  she  had ! 

Brina,  quite  unknowingly,  came  to  the  rescue 
with  a  tray  of  cakes  and  a  pot  of  cocoa. 

Their  hostess,  her  annoyance  put  aside,  smiled 
graciously  again,  and  poured  the  cocoa  into  little 
cups  while  the  firelight  flashed  from  the  brooch  on 
her  dress.  Brina  went  back  and  forth  with  heavy 
tread,  sullenly  watchful  of  her  mistress*  smallest  need. 
The  girls  sat  close  to  the  table  upon  which  still  lay 
the  book  of  cathedral  prints  and  sipped  their  cocoa 
and  ate  their  cakes.  The  wintry  sun  shone  in 
through  the  curtained  windows,  giving  the  room,  with 
its  pale  glow,  a  melancholy  cheerfulness. 

"Must  you  really  go?"  asked  their  hostess,  po- 
litely, when,  a  half -hour  later,  Robin  and  Beryl  ex- 
claimed at  the  lateness  of  the  hour. 

"Why,  we  never  meant  to  stay  so  long!     It  has 


A  GIFT  TO  THE  QUEEN  173 

been  so  nice."  Robin  wondered,  if  she  held  out  her 
hand,  would  the  Queen  take  it  ?  She  ventured  it  with 
such  a  shy,  appealing  movement  that  the  old  lady 
clasped  it  in  hers,  then  dropped  it  abruptly,  as  though 
annoyed  by  her  own  impulsiveness. 

"The  afternoon  has  passed  very  pleasantly  for 
me."  The  Queen's  voice  was  measuredly  polite.  "I 
thank  you  for  thinking  of  me — in  my  out-of-the-way 
corner,  and  bringing  me  such  lovely  gifts."  Her 
eyes  turned  from  the  flowers  which  Brina  had  put  in 
a  squat  pewter  pitcher  to  the  book  which  lay  on  the 
table.  Then  she  turned  to  Robin  and  levelled  a 
glance  upon  her  which  held  a  queer  challenge. 

"If  you  succeed — with  your — what  did  you  call 
it — House  of  Laughter,  let  me  know,  sometime.  I 
shall  be  most  interested  in  your  experiment." 

"Then  she  was  listening,"  thought  Robin,  won- 
dering at  the  bitter  tone  in  the  woman's  voice.  "May- 
be she's  so  lonely  and  so  unhappy  she  hates  to  think 
of  laughter." 

"Well,  Red- Robin  Forsyth,  you  certainly  did  siull 
everything  you  knew  and  a  lot  more  besides,"  cried 
Beryl,  when  the  two  were  alone.  "As  if  a  Queen 
cared  a  fig!  I  tried  to  head  you  off  a  couple  of 
times."  Beryl  laughed  scornfully.  "It  was  funny!" 

Robin  still  smarted  from  her  recent  embarrass- 
ment ;  she  did  not  relish  Beryl's  laughing  at  her. 

"We  had  to  talk  about  something,"  she  cried  in 
defence. 


174  RED-ROBIN 

"Well,  if  you'd  given  me  a  chance  I'd  have  talked 
about  things  that  are  happening  in  Europe.  Sort 
of  led  her  on,  you  know,  so's  maybe  she'd  give  herself 
away.  That's  what  I  wanted — to  find  out  something 
about  her  instead  of  telling  all  about  ourselves.  Here 
she  knows  everything  about  you  and  you  notice  she 
didn't  say  one  word  about  her^oii !  The  whole  after- 
noon's wasted  and  we  might  as  well  not've  gone  at 
all.  I  wanted  to  get  something  on  her  so's  maybe — 
some  day — "  Disgusted,  Beryl  broke  off  abruptly, 
quickening  her  step  to  show  her  companion  her 
displeasure. 

Robin  limped  in  silence  after  her;  she  had  talked 
too  much,  the  Queen  was  probably  laughing  at  her 
now — and  Beryl  was  angry  and  disgusted. 

Beryl  forgot  her  moment's  displeasure,  however, 
when  Williams  imparted  to  them  the  "dope"  he 
had  on  the  "Queen-dame,"  gleaned  from  the  old 
storekeeper. 

"Old  Si  says  the  'queer  party'  bought  that  house 
off  up  there  last  fall  suddenly  and  moved  up  from 
somewhere  or  t'other  with  a  truck  load  of  stuff. 
The  Big-gun,  beg  pardon,  I  mean  the  Queen,  came 
herself,  with  some  sort  of  a  body-guard  in  an  enclosed 
car,  that  went  away  after  it'd  landed  them  in  the 
woods.  Si's  sore,  I  suppose,  because  they  get  'their 
vittles  sent  up  from  New  York' — though  I  don't 
know  as  I  blame  them  from  what  I  saw  in  his  store. 
Says  the  'queer  party'  walks  through  the  village 


A  GIFT  TO  THE  QUEEN  175 

sometimes,  but  she's  always  with  her  body-guard  and 
a  big  dog,  and  wears  a  heavy  veil  'like  them  furrin' 
women'."  Williams  chuckled  as  he  tried  to  give  to 
his  little  account  the  touches  Si  had  put  into  it. 

Beryl  caught  Robin's  hand  in  an  ecstasy  of  de- 
light. "There.  That  settles  it  as  sure  as  anything. 
I'd  like  to  write  to  somebody  in  Washington  and 
tell  what  we  know  and  maybe  we'd  get  a  reward. 
Royalty  most  always  has  a  price  on  its  head,"  Beryl 
finished  grandly. 

Robin  wanted  to  protest  at  the  thought  of  there 
being  a  price  on  that  snow-white  head,  but  not  cer- 
tain as  to  how  far  she  had  been  restored  in  Beryl's 
favor,  she  refrained,  and  merely  smiled  in  assent  to 
Beryl's  excitement. 

"We've  got  to  hurry  back  if  we  beat  that  cloud 
yonder,"  declared  Williams,  nodding  toward  a  gath- 
ering bank  of  dark  clouds  in  the  western  sky,  and 
the  mention  of  snow  brought  back  to  the  girls  the 
approaching  party. 

It  did  snow — long  before  Williams  reached  the 
Manor,  so  that  the  car  was  covered ;  throughout  the 
dinner  Harkness  went  again  and  again  to  the  window 
to  peer  out,  always  turning  back  with  the  worried 
announcement :  "It's  still  coming  down."  And  at 
bedtime  Robin,  peeping  out,  saw  a  world  blanketed 
white.  Even  Mr.  Tubbs  laid  his  neuralgic  head  upon 
his  soft  pillow  with  the  regretful  thought:  "Now; 
the  Grangers  cannot  come.  A  pity.  Yes." 


CHAPTER  XV 

THE   PARTY 

THE  household  at  Gray  Manor  looked  upon  the 
heavy  fall  of  snow  with  varying  emotions.  Harkness 
lamented  loudly:  "It  might  'a  held  off  for  Missy's 
party.  If  it  was  the  old  days — well,  the  county 
lydies  could  a'  come  in  their  sleighs.  All  right  as 
far  as  the  post  road  goes,  but  the  Grangers — " 

Downstairs  Budge  rejoiced  that  the  Grangers 
might  not  come.  "Eyes  like  a  ferret  that  woman 
has  and  like  as  not  she  never  got  over  our  boy's  going. 
She'd  say  things  was  going  to  sixes  and  sevens,  with 
a  little  thing  no  bigger'n  a  penny  in  our  boy's  shoes — 
she  would.  But  I'd  like  to  know  who  ever '11  eat  all 
the  stuff  I'm  fixing!"  The  house  cleaned  to  a  fine 
polish  from  attic  to  cellar,  Mrs.  Budge  had  turned 
her  attention  most  generously  to  the  food. 

"Why  does  everyone  care  about  Mrs.  Granger?" 
asked  Robin,  of  Harkness,  when  even  Percival  Tubbs 
regretted,  with  a  sigh,  that  Mrs.  Granger  might  not 
find  it  possible  to  come. 

"Well,  you  might  say  she's  next  lydy  to  Madame 
herself,"  explained  Harkness.  "In  the  old  days  her 
people  and  the  Manor  people  were  thick  like  and  vis- 
ited backward  and  forward.  And  there  was  talk 
of  young  Christopher  some  day  marrying  the  young 

lydy,  Miss  Alicia.     I  hear  tell  his  death  was  a  sad 
176 


THE  PARTY  177 

blow  to  them.  They  haven't  been  coming  much  to 
the  Manor  since,  but  we  laid  it  to  Madame's  queer 
ways  and  the  gloom." 

"Will  the  others  be  able  to  come?  Won't  Mrs. 
Budge  have  lots  too  much  food?" 

"Well,  you  might  say  most  will  make  it,  for  they 
keep  the  post  roads  open.  We'll  hope  for  the  best, 
missy,"  he  added,  interpreting  Robin's  anxious  ques- 
tioning as  an  expression  of  disappointment. 

But  Robin's  sudden  concern  over  the  party  had 
nothing  to  do  with  the  coming  of  Mrs.  Granger  or 
anyone  else.  As  she  had  stood  in  the  window,  her 
nose  flattened  against  the  pane,  staring  out  at  the 
snowy  slopes,  she  had  been  suddenly  inspired  by  a 
beautiful  plan.  She  turned  to  Beryl. 

"Can  something  be  sent  up  from  New  York  in 
a  day?" 

"Depends."     Beryl  answered  shortly.     "What?" 

With  one  of  the  lightning-like  decisions,  charac- 
teristic of  her,  Robin  decided  not  to  take  Beryl  into 
her  confidence — just  yet. 

"Oh,  I  was  thinking.  Something  about  my 
party.  I'll  tell  you — later." 

Beryl  stared  at  Robin  a  little  suspiciously — Robin 
looked  queer,  all-tight-inside,  as  though  she'd  made 
up  her  mind  to  do  something.  It  was  the  new  Robin 
again.  Oh,  well,  if  she  didn't  want  to  tell — 

After  luncheon  Robin  donned  her  warm  outer 

garments  and  slipped  out  of  the  house  while  Beryl 
12 


1 78  RED-ROBIN 

•was  practicing.     To  carry  out  her  plan,  now  fully 
grown,  she  must  send  a  telegram  and  see  Mrs.  Lynch. 

Two  hours  later,  flushed  and  excited,  she  hunted 
down  Mrs.  Budge,  whom  she  found  mixing  savory 
concoctions  in  a  huge  bowl. 

"M'm,  how  good  things  smell,"  she  began,  to 
break  down  the  hostility  she  saw  in  Budge's  eye, 
"Is  that  for  the  party?" 

"  'S  going  to  be,"  and  Budge  stirred  more  vigor- 
ously than  ever. 

"Mrs.  Budge,  will  there  be  enough  food  for — 
some  extra  ones — I've  invited  or  I'm — going  to 
invite  ?" 

Budge  dropped  her  spoon.  "Well,  no  one  ever 
went  hungry  in  this  house,"  she  answered  crisply. 
"May  I  ask  who  your  guests  are?"  Budge  permitted 
herself  the  pleasure  of  a  meaning  inflection  on 
the  "your." 

"Well,  I'm  not  quite  sure — yet,  only  I  wanted  to 
know  about  the  food — "  Robin  retreated  step  by  step 
toward  the  door,  her  limp  exaggerated  by  the  move- 
ment. "I'm  waiting  for  word  from  my  guardian." 

"Robin!  Humph,"  Budge  flung  at  the  door  as 
it  closed  upon  the  girl.  "It  it  wasn't  that  this  house 
depended  on  me  I'd  drop  my  spoon  and  walk  out 
this  minit,  I  would,  or  my  name  ain't  Hannah  Budge. 
Guests!  Like  as  not  some  of  these  Mill  truck." 

More  than  the  snowstorm  threatened  the  success 
of  Robin's  "at-home."  For  Cornelius  Allendyce  was 


THE  PARTY  179 

suddenly  prostrated  by  a  bad  attack  of  sciatica.  And 
his  sister  declared  she  could  not  leave  him;  at  such 
times  only  her  patient  and  faithful  ministrations 
eased  his  intense  suffering. 

"I'll  telephone  to  Wassumsic  right  away  and  don't 
you  worry,"  she  begged  of  him,  "they'll  get  along 
somehow  or  other." 

"They'll  have  to,"  the  guardian  growled,  be- 
tween groans. 

But  before  Miss  Effie  could  telephone,  Robin's 
telegram  came.  Cornelius  Allendyce  opened  it  with 
indifferent  fingers,  read  it,  then  rose  upright  with 
such  suddenness  that  a  loud  cry  of  pain  burst 
from  him. 

"Will  you  listen  to  this?  That  child  wants  me 
to  express  fifty  sleds  to  the  Manor,  at  once !  Read 
it  and  see  if  I've  gone  crazy." 

"There,  there,  lie  still,  Cornelius — I  don't  care 
if  she  wants  fifty  sleds  or  fifty  hundred.  Send  them 
to  her  and  wait  until  you're  well  to  find  out  if  she 
coasted  on  all  of  them  or  wanted  them  for  kindling 
wood.  There — I  knew  it'd  make  your  pain  worse. 
Wait — I'll  warm  this!"  All  solicitous,  for  her 
brother's  face  had  twisted  in  agony,  the  sister  dropped 
the  telegram  and  busied  herself  over  her  patient. 

Her  advice  seemed  good.  "Well,  send  them. 
Tell  them  to  rush  the  order,"  he  groaned,  then  gave 
himself  over  to  his  suffering  with,  somewhere  back 
in  his  head,  the  thought  that  there  was  quite  a  bit 


i8o  RED-ROBIN 

more  to  being  a  guardian  than  he  had  calculated 

So  while  Harkness  and  Budge  and  Mrs.  Williams, 
pressed  into  service,  made  the  old  Manor  festive  with 
flowers  and  pine  boughs,  Robin  completed  the  plans 
for  her  part  of  the  party,  and  confided  to  Beryl 
that  fifty  of  the  Mill  youngsters  were  coming  to 
the  Manor  to  coast  on  the  sloping  hillside. 

"Robin  Forsyth,  what  ever  will  they  all  say?" 

"Who?"  demanded  Robin,  with  aggravating 
innocence. 

"All  the  guests.  Why,  Robin,  you're  hopeless! 
You  simply  can't  get  it  into  your  head  that  the 
Forsyths  are  different  from — the  Mill  people." 

"They're  not.  And  we  haven't  time  to  argue 
now.  They're  coming — a  lot  of  them.  Your  mother 
invited  them  for  me  through  the  school  teacher — 
you  see,  there  wasn't  time  for  me  to,  because  I  didn't 
know  where  the  younger  children  lived.  My  guar- 
dian has  sent  on  the  duckiest  sleds — all  red.  Williams 
brought  them  up  and  they're  out  in  the  garage. 
He's  going  to  take  charge  of  my  part  of  the  party." 

"Does  Budge  know?" 

Robin  hated  to  admit  that  she  had  been  afraid 
to  tell  Budge.  She  flushed  ever  so  slightly.  "N-no. 
At  least  I  told  her  there  were  some  extra  coming. 
Oh,  Beryl,  don't  act  as  though  you  thought  every- 
thing was  going  to  be  a  failure.  I  thought — as  long 
as  there  was  going  to  be  this  stupid  old  reception 
here  and  lots  of  nice  food,  it  was  the  only  time  to 


THE  PARTY  181 

have  a  party  for  the  kiddies,  for  Budge  would  never 
cook  a  crumb  if  it  were  just  for  them.  I  wish  my 
guardian  were  here — I  know  he'd  understand." 

"Where  are  they  going  to  eat?" 

"The  ladies?  Oh,  the  children.  I've  told 
Harkness  to  put  a  table  in  the  conservatory  and  make 
it  Christmasy." 

"You're  clever,  Robin.  Harkness  will  do  it  for 
you — but,  oh,  he'll  hate  it;  I  can  hear  him — 'things 
aren't  like  they  used  to  be.'  As  my  father'd  say — 
you're  killing  the  goose  that  lays  the  golden  egg,  all 
righto.  Budge  will  tell  Madame,  sure's  anything." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  asked  Robin  quietly,  a 
little  gleam  in  her  eyes. 

"Why,  stupid,  the  Forsyths  aren't  going  to  stand 
for  that  sort  of  thing.  They'll  send  you  back — " 

"Beryl,  do  you  think  I'm  staying  here  for  the 
Forsyth  money — or —  or  care  about  it  ?  I  came  here 
so  that  Jimmie  could  go  away  without  worrying 
about  me.  When  he  comes  home  I  shall  go  back 
to  him,  of  course." 

"Leave  Gray  Manor?"  Beryl's  voice  rang 
incredulously. 

"Of  course.  I  like  it  here  and  there  are  lots  of 
things  I  want  to  do,  but  when  Jimmie  comes  back — 
if  he  wants  me — "  her  voice  trembled. 

Beryl  stared  at  Robin  as  though  she  saw  a  strange 
creature  in  the  familiar  guise.  "You  are  the  queerest 
girl.  You  don't  seem  to  care  for  the  things  money 


182  RED-ROBIN 

can  get  for  you!"  She  had  to  pause,  to  pick  her 
words.  "Why,  if  7  had  the  chance — all  the  advan- 
tages, and  taking  lovely  trips,  and  the  fun.  You 
could  go  to  one  of  these  girls'  schools  and  play  tennis 
and  golf  and  ride  horseback!  And  always  have 
pretty  clothes!"  The  bitter  edge  to  Beryl's  voice  be- 
trayed how  much  she  would  like  these  things. 

"Would  you  desert  your  mother  and — and  Dale 
for  things  like  that?  Would  you?" 

In  her  relentless  dreaming,  in  her  sturdy  ambi- 
tions, Beryl  had  never  put  such  a  question  to  herself. 
She  had  simply  never  seen  them  in  her  picture.  She 
evaded  a  direct  answer  now. 

"They'd  want  me  to!" 

"Of  course  they  would.  Mothers  and  fathers  are 
like  that.  Just  unselfish.  But  you  wouldn't  give 
your  mother  up  for  anything.  I  know  you  wouldn't." 

Beryl  turned  away  from  Robin's  searching  eyes. 
In  her  innermost  heart — an  honest  heart  it  was — 
she  was  not  quite  sure;  her  life  had  been  different 
from  Robin's,  she  had  been  taught  to  want  fine  things 
and  go  straight  for  them;  so  had  Dale.  If  getting 
them  meant  sacrificing  sentiment — well,  she'd  do  it. 
So,  perhaps,  would  Dale  (and  Robin  thought  Dale 
perfect).  But  she  couldn't  make  Robin  understand 
because  Robin  had  never  wanted  anything  big — 
Beryl  always  fell  back  upon  this  comforting  thought. 

"Well,  you'd  better  get  Harkness  in  line  and  don't 
get  so  interested  in  your  kids  that  you  forget  Mrs. 


THE  PARTY  183 

Granger.  She  is  coming — they  telephoned  that  the 
road  is  open." 

Robin  dropped  an  impulsive  kiss  on  the  top  of 
Beryl's  head  to  show  her  that,  no  matter  how  much 
they  disagreed,  they  were  good  friends,  and  went 
off  in  search  of  Harkness. 

The  appointed  hour  for  the  reception  found  the 
Manor  and  its  servants  ready.  With  myriad  lights, 
gleaming  from  candles  and  chandeliers,  reflecting  in 
the  polished  surfaces  of  old  wood  and  silver  and 
bronze,  the  air  sweet  with  the  scent  of  pine  and 
flowers,  the  old  Manor  had  something  of  the  brill- 
iancy of  other  days.  But,  in  sad  contrast  to  the 
old  days,  now  poor  Budge  watched  the  extra  help 
from  the  village  with  a  dour  and  suspicious  eye  and 
Harkness,  dignified  in  his  faded  livery,  made  the 
"extra"  table  in  the  conservatory  as  Christmasy  as 
he  could,  with  a  heart  heavy  with  doubt  as  to  the 
"fitness"  of  Missy's  whims. 

Robin,  in  her  Madonna  blue  dress,  looked  very 
small  in  the  stately  drawing  room.  There  Percival 
Tubbs  patiently  explained,  for  the  hundredth  time, 
with  just  what  words  she  must  greet  her  guests,  as 
Harkness  announced  them ;  and  Robin  listened  duti- 
fully, with  her  thoughts  on  the  hillside  beyond  the 
long  windows  where  already  red  sleds  were  flying  up 
and  down  the  snowy  slope  and  childish  voices  were 
lifting  in  glee. 


184  RED-ROBIN 

True  to  Mrs.  Budge's  predictions,  Mrs.  Cross- 
waithe,  from  Sharon,  arrived  first.  Robin  saw 
masses  of  velvet  and  plumes  and  a  sharp,  wizened 
face  somewhere  in  the  midst  of  it  all.  She  forgot 
Mr.  Tubbs'  careful  teaching,  said  "I'm  pleased  to 
know  you,"  instead,  and  held  out  her  hand  to  the 
tall,  thin,  mannishly  dressed  young  woman  behind 
Mrs.  Crosswaithe,  who,  though  Robin  did  not  know 
it,  was  Mrs.  Crosswaithe's  daughter. 

For  an  hour  the  guests  arrived  in  as  steady  a 
stream  as  their  high-powered  cars  could  carry  them 
through  the  heavy  roads.  The  Manor  had  not  been 
opened  like  this  for  years  and  the  "best  people  in  the 
county"  took  advantage  of  the  opportunity  to  look 
for  signs  of  failing  fortunes,  to  see  the  "girl"  who 
had  come  to  the  Manor,  and  to  find  out  just  where 
Madame  was  travelling.  Thanks  to  Budge's  heroic 
work  no  one  discovered  any  sign  of  change  in  the  old 
house;  their  questioning  only  met  with  disappoint- 
ment, and  Budge's  food  was  of  much  more  interest 
than  the  young  heiress  who,  they  decided,  was  a 
pretty  little  thing  but  much  too  small  for  her  age. 

Robin  shook  hands  until  her  arm  ached,  mumbled 
the  wrong  thing  most  of  the  time  which,  however, 
did  not  seem  to  make  any  difference  with  anyone, 
and  kept  one  eye  longingly  on  the  window,  and  one 
ear  listening  for  the  shouts  outside  which  were  grow- 
ing louder  and  louder.  She  seized  an  opportunity  to 
go  to  the  window  and  watch,  so  that  when  the  great 


THE  PARTY  185 

Mrs.  Granger  arrived  Mr.  Tubbs  had  to,  a  little 
sharply,  recall  her  to  her  duty. 

"Isn't  she — awful?"  whispered  Robin  to  Beryl, 
as  Mrs.  Granger,  after  condescendingly  patting 
Robin's  hand,  swept  on. 

"She  thinks  she's  so  grand,  but  she  ought  to  see 
the  Queen!"  Which  observation  would  have  en- 
raged Mrs.  Granger,  had  she  heard  it,  for  she  had 
felt  particular  satisfaction  in  her  dress  and  hat,  sent 
on,  only  the  day  before,  from  the  most  expensive 
shop  in  New  York. 

"Miss  Alicia  didn't  come — she's  in  California. 
Say,  Robin,  there's  a  Granger  boy,  'bout  eighteen. 
Maybe  that's  why  my  lady  Granger's  so  sweet 
to  you." 

"Silly!"  Robin  flung  at  Beryl  in  retort.  "Oh, 
dear,  can't  I  go  out  to  my  own  guests  now?" 

Robin  and  Williams  had  planned  that  the  children 
should  be  admitted  to  the  conservatory  through  a 
side  door,  leaving  their  outer  garments  in  a  vestibule, 
So,  when  everything  was  in  readiness  for  them, 
Harkness  gave  the  sign,  and  Williams  herded  his 
noisy  troupe  to  the  house. 

Many  of  the  older  guests  had  been  present  at 
that  memorable  birthday  party  on  young  Christopher's 
eighteenth  birthday  and  they  recalled  now,  over  their 
salad  plates,  the  brilliancy  of  that  affair  and  touched 
upon  all  that  had  happened  since  in  the  way  of  change. 
Mrs.  Granger  displayed  much  emotion. 


i86  RED-ROBIN 

"That  made  a  picture  I  will  never  forget!"  and 
she  nodded  toward  the  glass  doors,  curtained  in  soft 
silk,  which  led  from  the  dining  room  to  the  conserva- 
tory and  which  Harkness  had  carefully  closed.  "I 
wonder  if  I  might  just  peep  in?  Ah,  the  memories. 
My  dear  Alicia  and  that  handsome  boy — "  she  touched 
a  lacy  handkerchief  to  her  eyes. 

Several  who  had  overheard  her  followed  Mrs. 
Granger  to  the  closed  doors  and  stood  behind  her  as 
she  opened  them.  And  their  eyes  beheld  a  sight  so 
different  from  that  birthday  party  that  they  stepped 
back  in  amazement,  Mrs.  Granger  lifting  her  lorgnette 
in  trembling  fingers. 

Youngsters  of  every  size  and  of  every  degree  of 
greed  crowded  around  the  long  table,  the  "Christ- 
masy"  decoration  of  which  had  already  been  pulled 
to  pieces  by  eager  reaching  hands.  Faces,  still  red 
from  the  crisp  air  and  streaked  where  dirty  coat 
sleeves  had  rubbed  them,  beamed  across  the  heaping 
plates,  busy  fingers  crammed  away  the  goodies. 
One  small  boy  half -lay  across  the  table ;  another  stood 
in  his  chair,  his  frayed  woolen  cap  set  rakishly  back 
and  over  one  ear.  On  each  excited  countenance  a 
shadow  of  suspicion  mingled  with  the  joy,  a  fear 
that  the  same  magic  which  had  brought  it  might 
snatch  all  this  strange  and  lovely  fun  away.  Harkness 
watched  at  one  end  of  the  table,  Williams  at  another. 
And  in  their  midst  sat  Robin. 

"Well,  I  never!"  murmured  Mrs.  Granger.     Her 


THE  PARTY  187 

exclamation  was  drowned,  however,  in  the  babble  of 
youthful  sound  let  loose  upon  the  "best  people  of  the 
County"  by  the  opening  of  the  door.  "Miss  Gordon 
is  going  in  for  the  pretty  charity  thing,  is  she?" 

All  might  have  gone  well  even  then — for  Harkness 
had  a  stern  eye  on  everyone  of  Robin's  small  guests 
— had  not  little  Susy  seen  her  beloved  "big  girl"  slip 
through  the  group  at  the  big  glass  doors.  Susy  was 
the  youngest  of  the  children  there;  she  did  not  go 
to  school  regularly  enough  to  feel  at  home  with  the 
others,  she  had  refused  to  slide,  and,  at  the  table  had 
not  really  begun  to  enjoy  herself  until  Robin  had 
sat  down  next  to  her,  put  her  arm  around  her  and 
coaxed  her  to  eat  the  food  on  the  plate  before  her. 
The  food  had  turned  out  to  be  very  good  and  Susy 
had  crammed  it  down  with  her  fingers,  regardless 
of  fork  or  spoon.  Now  her  "big  girl"  had  slipped 
away,  she  was  alone,  that  man  at  the  end  was  staring 
at  her,  panic  seized  her,  a  mad  longing  to  escape, 
anywhere — preferably  back  to  the  shelter  of  the  "big 
girl's"  friendly  arm.  She  slid  down  from  her  seat, 
her  eyes  wildly  sweeping  the  room;  Harkness,  like 
an  ogre,  guarded  one  end  of  the  table,  Williams' 
bulk  stood  between  her  and  the  outer  door ;  there  was 
only  the  one  way,  through  the  glass  doors.  Head 
down,  she  ran  swiftly  the  length  of  the  conservatory 
and  bolted  into  the  little  group  of  people  watching 
from  the  dining  room  door.  Someone  big  blocked 
her  way.  With  frightened  hands  she  pushed  at  her. 


188  RED-ROBIN 

"Want  Granny!  Want  Granny!  Get  'way! 
fJh-h-h!" 

"The  dreadful  little  thing!"  someone  said. 

Robin,  hearing  the  shrill  cry,  rushed  to  the  rescue, 
and,  kneeling,  gathered  poor  weeping  Susy  into  a 
close  embrace.  Over  the  child's  tousled  head  she 
smiled  nervously  at  her  staring  guests. 

"Poor  little  thing,  she's  shy!"  Then,  feeling 
Susy  quivering  in  her  clasp,  she  whispered  some- 
thing magical  in  her  ears.  It  was  only:  "Robin 
will  keep  tight  hold  of  your  hand,  Susy-girl,  and 
you  needn't  be  a  bit  frightened  and  by  and  by,  if 
you're  quiet,  we'll  fill  a  bag  of  goodies  for  your 
brother  and  Granny."  But  it  soothed  Susy  at  once, 
and,  clinging  to  Robin's  hand,  she  stared  at  the  guests 
from  the  shelter  of  Robin's  skirts. 

There  was  a  little  stir  among  the  "best  people 
of  the  County" — a  renewal  of  the  chatter,  high- 
pitched,  pleasant  nothings,  and  side  remarks,  in 
careful  undertones. 

"Certainly,  not  a  bit  like  a  Forsyth." 

"I  rather  think  Madame  doesn't  know  what  is 
going  on  here." 

"Fancy  entertaining  these  little  persons  and  Mrs. 
Granger  with  the  same  spoon,  so  to  speak." 

And,  in  a  corner,  Mrs.  Granger  was  raging  over 
the  damaging  imprint  of  two  sticky  hands  on  the 
delicate  fabric  of  her  costly  gown.  For  her's  had 
been  the  bulk  that  had  stood  between  Susy  and  her 


THE  PARTY  189 

"big  girl,"  and  Susy  had  been  eating  chocolate  marsh- 
mallow  cake  with  both  hands! 

Mrs.  Granger  had  come  to  Gray  Manor  with 
fhe  intention  of  coaxing  Miss  Gordon  to  spend 
Christmas  at  Wyckham,  the  Granger  home.  But, 
aa  she  made  ineffectual  dabs  at  the  greasy  spots  on 
'aer  skirt  with  her  silly  little  handkerchief,  she  put 
such  a  thought  quite  away  from  her  mind. 

"Brat !"  she  cried  under  her  breath,  angrily,  and 
from  the  way  she  glared  at  Robin  and  Susy  no  one 
could  have  told  which  of  the  two  she  meant. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

CHRISTMAS  AT  THE  MANOR 

CHRISTMAS  without  Jimmie  was,  for  Robin,  a 
thing  not  to  think  about.  And  from  Beryl,  inasmuch 
as  that  young  lady  affected  a  stoical  indifference  to 
the  holiday,  she  could  get  little  sympathy.  Beryl  had 
shocked  her  with  the  heresy :  "Christmas  is  just  for 
rich  people,  anyway." 

"It  is  not.  Oh,  it  isn't,"  Robin  had  cried  in 
remonstrance.  But  she  could  not  tell  of  her  and 
Jimmie's  happy  Christ-days  without  giving  way  to 
the  tears  which,  at  the  thought,  scalded  the  backs  of 
her  eyes.  It  had  not  been  alone  the  holly  and  pine 
of  the  shop  windows,  or  the  simple  gifts  Jimmie's 
loyal  and  more  fortunate  friends  brought,  or  the 
usual  merry  feast  that  had  made  them  happy;  it 
had  been  a  deep  and  beautiful  understanding  of  the 
Infinite  Love  that  had  given  the  Christ-child  io  the 
world,  that  Love  which  surpassed  even  Jimmie  s  love 
for  her  or  hers  for  Jimmie,  and  that  was  hers  and 
everyone  elses.  She  had  felt  it  first  when,  a  very 
little  girl,  she  had  gone,  once,  with  Jimmie  into  the 
purple  shadows  of  a  great  church,  where  the  air  was 
sweet  with  incense  and  vibrating  with  the  muted 
notes  of  an  organ.  She  had  stood  with  Jimmie 
before  a  little  cradle  that  had  seemed  beautiful  with 
gold  and  precious  colors  but,  when  she  looked  again, 
was  a  humble  thing  of  wood  and  straw,  and  what 
190 


CHRISTMAS  AT  THE  MANOR       191 

she  had  thought  so  bright  was  the  radiance  of  candles 
and  the  reflection  from  the  many-colored  windows. 
Then  she  had  looked  at  the  cradle  more  closely  and 
had  found  that  it  held  a  beautiful  wax  babe.  When 
Jimmie  tugged  at  her  hand  she  had  reluctantly  turned 
away.  At  the  same  time  a  shabby  old  woman  and  a 
little  boy,  who  had  been  kneeling  nearby,  arose,  and 
the  old  woman  and  the  little  boy  had  smiled  at  her — 
a  different  smile  and  she  had  smiled  back.  On  the 
way  home  Jimmie  had  explained  to  her  that  the  Gift 
of  the  Christ-child  was  the  great  universal  gift  and 
belonged  to  everyone,  the  world  over.  She  knew, 
then,  why  the  shabby  old  woman  had  smiled — it 
was  over  the  Gift  they  shared. 

"Christmas  is  for  everybody,"  she  finished. 

"Well,  all  it  means  to  me  now  that  I'm  big," 
pursued  Beryl,  "is  stores  full  of  lovely  things  and 
crowded  with  people  lucky  enough  to  have  money 
to  buy  them.  And  talking  about  how  much  every- 
thing is.  I  heard  a  woman  once  saying  she  had  to 
spend  five  dollars  on  her  aunt  because  her  aunt  always 
spent  five  dollars  on  her.  That's  why  I  say  Christ- 
mas is  for  the  rich — it's  a  sort  of  general  exchange 
and  take  it  back  if  you  don't  like  it  or  have  half 
a  dozen  like  'em,  or  put  it  away  and  send  it  to  some 
one  next  Christmas.  Miss  Lewis,  at  the  Settlement 
where  mother  worked,  gave  a  book  to  a  lady  one 
Christmas  and  got  it  back  the  next,  and  the  leaves 
weren't  even  cut." 


192  RED-ROBIN 

Robin  laughed  in  spite  of  her  disapproval  of 
Beryl's  heresy.  "There  are  different  kinds  of 
Christmases,  Beryl,  and  I'll  show  you,"  she  protested, 
then  and  there  vowing  to  make  the  Christmas  at  the 
Manor  a  merry  one,  in  spite  of  odds. 

"Well,  the  nicest  thing  /  know  that's  going  to 
happen  is  that  Rub-a-dub-dub  is  going  home," 
retorted  Beryl. 

"That  is  nice,  but  there'll  be  even  nicer  things. 
Let's  invite  your  mother  and  Dale  for  dinner  and 
have  a  little  tree  and  we'll  make  all  sorts  of  foolish 
things  to  put  on  it." 

To  Beryl  this  did  not  sound  at  all  exciting  but 
Robin  loved  the  thought  of  sitting  with  Mrs.  Lynch 
and  Dale  and  Beryl,  like  one  happy  family,  around 
the  long  table.  She'd  ask  Harkness  to  cut  pine 
boughs  and  a  nice  smelly  tree,  which  she  and  Beryl 
would  adorn  with  gifts  that  had  no  more  value  than 
a  good  laugh. 

And  she  would  coax  Harkness  to  get  Williams 
and  his  nice  wife  to  help  open  and  clean  the  House 
of  Laughter.  She'd  like  to  have  it  a  Christmas  gift 
from  her  to  the  Mill  children. 

She  found  Harkness  ready  for  her  wildest  sug- 
gestion. He  had  confided  to  Williams  and  Mrs. 
Budge  that  he  felt  sorry  for  little  Missy  alone  in  the 
big  house  on  Christmas. 

"A  lot  of  pine  and  holly,  Missy,  and  the  old  place 
won't  look  the  same.  A  tree — of  course  there'M 


CHRISTMAS  AT  THE  MANOR       193 

be  a  tree!  Whoever  heard  zf  Christmas  without 
a  tree.  Many's  the  one  I've  cut  with  the  young 
master;  he'd  have  no  one  but  Harkness  do  it,  for  he 
said  I  always  found  the  best  trees." 

But  the  old  man's  head  began  to  whirl  a  little 
when  Robin  explained  about  the  House  of  Laughter 
and  the  dinner  that  must  be  "different."  She 
had  to  tell  him  again  and  again,  until  her  tone 
grew  pleading. 

"I'll  help  you,  Missy,  only  I'm  a  little  slow  just 
understanding.  It'll  come,  though,  it'll  come. 
Williams  will  give  a  hand  and  his  wife  maybe,  and 
I'll  tell  Mrs.  Budge  about  the  Christmas  cakes  and 
things.  It'll  be  as  merry  a  Christmas  as  old 
Harkness  can  make  it,  Missy." 

"Oh,  Mr.  Harkness,  you're  a  dear,"  Robin  cried, 
with  a  look  that  made  the  old  man's  heart  almost 
burst  with  affection. 

"But  I  won't  tell  Hannah  Budge  any  more  than 
she  has  to  know,"  he  thought,  as  he  went  off  to  do 
Robin's  bidding. 

With  Williams  and  his  wife  and  his  wife's  sister, 
who  had  married  the  telegraph  operator  at  the  little 
station,  pressed  into  the  work,  the  empty  cottage 
at  the  turn  of  the  road  took  on  rapid  changes.  Win- 
dows were  opened,  doors  were  thrown  wide,  letting  in 
the  sweet  cold  air;  under  the  magic  of  strong  soap 
and  good  muscle  the  old  wood- work  shone  with 

cleanliness;  the  faded  walls  lost  their  melancholy. 
13 


194  RED-ROBIN 

Harkness  and  Williams  hauled  down  a  load  of  wood 
and  piled  it  high  by  the  back  door ;  Mrs.  Lynch  trans- 
formed the  rusty  stove  into  a  shiny,  efficient, 
eager  thing. 

Williams,  who  was  very  clever  and  would  have 
been  a  carpenter  if  he  hadn't  been  a  chauffeur,  built 
tables  out  of  rough  boards  and,  in  the  living  room, 
put  up  shelves  for  books  and  the  window  seat 
Robin  wanted. 

Robin  and  Beryl  flew  about  in  everyone's  way, 
eager  to  help  and  generous  with  advice. 

"There,  I'd  say  things  were  pretty  nice,"  ex- 
claimed Williams,  at  the  end  of  the  sixth  day  of 
work,  stepping  back  to  survey  with  satisfaction  the 
chair  he  had  made  out  of  "odds  and  ends." 

"But  it  doesn't  look  like  what  we  want — yet!" 
Robin  glanced  about  dolefully.  "It  needs  such  a  lot 
to  make  it  homey.  Where'll  we  ever  get  it  all?" 

"Now,  Miss  Robin,  Rome  wasn't  built  in  a  day, 
as  I  ever  heard  of,"  protested  Harkness,  a  smudge 
over  his  nose  and  two  long  nails  between  his  teeth. 
"I  guess  there's  truck  enough  in  the  attic  up  there 
at  the  Manor  to  fill  this  house  and  a  dozen  like  it." 

"Oh,  Mr.  Harkness,  may  we  use  it?  Or — just 
borrow  it  until  my  aunt  returns?  Can  we?" 

Harkness  exchanged  glances  with  Williams. 
Harkness  knew  that  it  had  long  been  Mrs.  Budge's 
custom  to  make  a  two  day  trip  to  New  York  during 
the  week  preceding  Christmas.  They  could  take 
advantage  of  her  absence. 


CHRISTMAS  AT  THE  MANOR      195 

"Well,  I  guess  we  can  borrow  enough,  Missy, 
to  do."  And  no  one  thought  of  smiling  at  his  "we" 
for,  indeed,  everyone  there  felt  that  he  or  she  had  a 
share  in  Robin's  House  of  Laughter. 

But  even  stripping  the  Manor  attic  of  its  "truck" 
did  not  satisfy  Robin  and  the  day  before  Christmas 
found  her  House  of  Laughter  lacking  in  the  things 
she  wanted  most. 

"It  ought  to  have  jolly  pictures  and  ever  so  many 
books  and  pillows  and  nice,  frilly  curtains,"  she 
mourned,  wondering  how  much  they  would  cost 
and  how  she  could  ever  get  them. 

On  Christmas  morning,  Harkness  dragged  to 
Robin's  door  a  box  of  gifts  from  her  guardian. 
Most  of  them  Miss  Effie  had  selected,  as  poor 
Cornelius  Allendyce  was  still  confined  to  his  room, 
and  that  good-hearted  woman  had,  with  a  burst  of 
real  Christmas  spirit,  simply  duplicated  each  gift, 
for,  though  she  wasn't  at  all  sure,  yet,  that  this 
"companion"  of  Robin's  choosing  was  the  refined 
sort  Robin  ought  to  have,  nevertheless  she  was  a  girl 
like  Robin  and  Christmas  was  Christmas.  Beryl  ap- 
preciated the  thought  fulness  more  than  she  could 
express  and  when  she  found  a  little  book  entitled 
"Old  Violins"  and  only  one,  she  hugged  it  to  her  with 
a  rush  of  happy  feeling. 

Later  in  the  morning  Mrs.  Granger's  chauffeur 
arrived  with  a  great  box  of  bon-bons  in  queer  shapes 
and  colors.  Neither  Robin  nor  Beryl  had  ever  seen 
anything  quite  so  extravagantly  contrived. 


196  RED-ROBIN 

"She  paid  a  fortune  for  that,"  declared  Beryl, 
appraisingly.  "She  must  have  forgiven  Susy  for 
spoiling  her  dress.  Or  maybe  she's  thinking  of  her 
son  again.  Let  me  read  the  card.  "Hoping  you  will 
coax  that  nice  Mr.  Tubbs  to  bring  you  to  us  before 
my  youngsters  go  back  to  school — "  Didn't  I  tell 
you,  Robin?" 

"I  won't  go,"  Robin  answered  briefly,  pushing 
box  and  card  away  with  a  gesture  that  disposed  of 
Mrs.  Granger  and  her  son.  "Now  we  must  trim 
the  tree." 

Harkness,  true  to  his  boast,  had  found  quite  the 
straightest,  princeliest  balsam  in  the  nearby  woods. 
Its  fragrance  penetrated  and  filled  the  old  house. 
The  girls  went  about  sniffing  joyously,  carrying  in 
their  arms  all  sorts  of  mysterious  objects  made  of 
bright  paper.  Harkness,  oddly  dishevelled  and  ex- 
cited, balanced  on  a  stepladder  and  fastened  the  gay 
ornaments  where  Robin  directed. 

Beryl  had  laughed  at  the  idea  of  having  a  Christ- 
mas tree  without  the  usual  tinsel  and  glittering 
baubles.  But  after  Robin  and  Harkness  had  worked 
for  a  half-hour  she  admitted  the  effect  was  very 
Christmasy  and  "different." 

"You're  awfully  clever,  Robin,"  she  declared,  in 
a  tone  frankly  grudging.  "You  make  little  things 
count  for  so  much — like  mother." 

"I  think  that's  a  compliment.     And  speaking  of 


CHRISTMAS  AT  THE  MANOR       197 

your  mother,  Beryl  Lynch,  we  have  just  time  to  wash 
our  hands  and  faces  and  change  our  dresses  before 
she  comes.  Oh,  hasn't  this  day  simply  flown?  And 
hasn't  it  been  nice,  after  all  ?  Isn't  Harkness  darling 
— look  at  him."  For  Harkness,  his  head  on  one 
side,  a  sprig  of  holly  over  one  ear  where  Robin  had 
put  it,  was  surveying  the  effect  of  an  angel  which 
Robin  had  made  of  bright  tissue  paper  and  which 
he  had  carefully  hung  by  the  heels. 

"That  kite  looks  as  real  as  can  be,  Missy." 

Giggling,  the  girls  rushed  away  to  make  ready 
for  what  Robin  declared  (though  she  had  been  much 
hurt  by  Dale's  refusing  to  come)  the  nicest  part 
of  Christmas. 

Belowstairs  Mrs.  Budge  was  directing  Chloe  with 
the  last  touches  of  the  Christmas  feast. 

"That's  the  prettiest  cake  I  ever  saw  if  I  do  say 
so,"  she  cried,  patting  the  round  cherry  which  adorned 
the  centre  of  the  gaily  frosted  cake.  Then,  lest 
she  grow  cheerful,  she  drew  a  long  sigh  from  the 
depths  of  her  bosom.  "But,  cake  or  no  cake,  I  never 
thought  I'd  live  to  feed  Mill  persons,  coming  to  our 
table  like  the  best  people.  Things  plain  common. 
It  ain't  like  the  old  days — it  ain't." 

"The  old  days  are  old  days,  Hannah  Budge," 
rebuked  Harkness,  who  had  come  into  the  kitchen. 
"Mebbe  our  little  lydy's  ways  aren't  our  ways  but 
it  isn't  so  bad  hearing  the  young  voices  and  you'll 
admit,  Mrs.  Budge,  that  that's  a  fine  cake  and  there'd 


198  RED-ROBIN 

be  no  cake  if  Missy  wasn't  here,  now,  won't  you?" 

"I  haven't  time  for  your  philosophizing,  Timothy 
Harkness.  With  things  at  sixes  and  sevens  I  have 
enough  to  do !"  But  Mrs.  Budge's  tone  had  softened. 
She  had  not  made  a  Christmas  cake  (at  sixteen 
Hannah  Budge  had  taken  the  prize  at  the  County 
Agricultural  Exhibit  for  the  finest  decorated  cake, 
and  she  had  never  forgotten  it)  since  Master 
Christopher  the  Third  had  left  them.  And  she  had 
enjoyed  hearing  young  voices  and  eager  steps  in  the 
old  house  and  had  caught  herself  that  very  morning, 
as  she  helped  Chloe  stuff  the  turkey,  singing : 
"Oh,  com-m-me  let  'tus  a-dor-r-re  Him." 

Chloe's  last  delectable  dish  for  the  dinner  eaten, 
Harkness  drew  back  the  folding  doors  to  reveal  the 
Christmas  tree  in  the  conservatory.  And  Robin, 
waiting  for  Mrs.  Lynch's  "oh"  of  admiration,  gave 
vent  herself  to  a  delighted  cry  of  surprise  for,  at  the 
foot  of  the  tree,  so  still  as  to  seem  a  graven  image, 
sat  little  Susy,  cross-legged,  staring  in  wrapt  con- 
tentment at  the  bright  ornaments. 

"Susy,  you  darling,  where  in  the  world  did  you 
drop  from?"  Robin  rushed  to  her  and  knelt  at 
her  side. 

Without  moving  her  eyes  so  much  as  a  fraction 
of  an  inch,  Susy  indicated  the  side  door  of  the  con- 
servatory as  her  means  of  entrance.  In  one  hand 
she  clutched  a  soiled  ragged  picture  book,  on  its 
uppermost  page  tfie  colorful  illustration  of  "The 


CHRISTMAS  AT  THE  MANOR       199 

Night  before  Christmas."  Susy  had  not  forgotten 
the  magic  of  that  side  door  which  had  opened  for  her 
upon  a  feast  beyond  her  wildest  imaginings;  if  there 
were  a  place  on  earth  where  that  Christmas  tree  of 
her  picture  could  come  really  true  it  must  be  at  the 
"big  girl's."  Alone  she  had  bravely  climbed  the  hill 
to  the  Manor  to  find  out. 

Not  a  word  could  Robin's  questioning  drag 
from  her. 

"You  shall  stay  here  as  long  as  you  want,"  Robin 
finally  declared,  popping  a  round  bon-bon  between 
the  child's  trembling  lips.  "We  needed  a  little  girl 
to  sit  at  the  foot  of  that  tree,  didn't  we?" 

At  Robin's  command,  Harkness  played  the  role  of 
Santa.  The  girls  had  fashioned  all  sorts  of  non- 
sensical gifts  out  of  paper  and  cardboard  and  paste; 
no  one  was  forgotten.  Mrs.  Lynch  declared  herself 
"as  rich  as  rich"  with  bracelets  and  a  necklace  made 
of  red  berries.  Mrs.  Budge,  forgetting,  when  Robin 
held  a  sprig  of  mistletoe  over  her  head  and  daringly 
kissed  her  wrinkled  cheek,  that  "things  was  going 
to  sixes  and  sevens,"  laughed  until  her  sides  ached 
at  Harkness  in  his  silly  clown's  cap.  Robin  and 
Beryl,  with  much  solemnity,  exchanged  purchases 
each  had  secretly  made  at  the  village  store  and  Robin 
could  not  resist  adding:  "Dare  you  to  send  it  to 
me  next  Christmas." 

Beryl  had  to  admit,  deep  in  her  heart,  that  Robin 
had  managed  a  Christmas  full  of  joy  that  had  nothing 


200  RED-ROBIN 

to  do  with  stores  full  of  lovely  things  and  crowded 
with  people  lucky  enough  to  have  money  to  buy  them. 
Never  having  thought  much  about  the  Christmas 
spirit,  she  had  no  name  with  which  to  explain  Mrs. 
Budge's  awkwardly  kind  manner — even  to  her,  or 
her  mother's  unusual  animation,  or  why  the  picture 
of  little  Susy,  still  rooted  to  the  tree,  clasping  a  great 
paper  doll  in  her  arms,  made  her  glad  all  over.  But 
after  a  little  she  disappeared,  and  presently,  from  the 
library,  came  the  strains  of  her  violin,  low,  pulsing 
with  a  deep  emotion,  now  a  laugh,  now  a  sob,  climb- 
ing higher  and  higher  until  they  sang  like  the  far-off, 
quivery  note  of  a  bird,  flying  into  the  heavens. 

A  deep  hush  fell  over  the  little  group  of  merry- 
makers. Harkness  coughed  into  his  hand.  Mrs. 
Budge  fussed  around  the  spacious  belt  of  a  dress  for 
a  handkerchief  and,  finding  none,  surreptitiously 
lifted  a  corner  of  her  apron.  Mrs.  Lynch  caught 
her  throat  with  a  convulsive  movement  as  though 
something  hurt  it.  Robin,  watching  her,  slipped  her 
hand  into  the  mother's  and  squeezed  it. 

"Don't  go,"  she  whispered  when  the  music  sud- 
denly ceased.  "Beryl's  funny.  She  likes  to  be  alone 
when  she  plays." 

"I  never  heard  her  play — like  that!" 

"Oh,  Beryl's  wonderful!"  Robin  smiled  happily 
in  her  faith.  "She  makes  that  all  up,  too,  'cause  she 
hasn't  any  music.  She's  going  to  be  the  greatest 
violinist  in  the  world.  Hush!" 


CHRISTMAS  AT  THE  MANOR      201 

Beryl  had  begun  a  lilting  refrain,  as  though  a 
mother  laughed  as  she  sang  a  lullaby.  It  had  in  it 
a  familiar  strain  which  carried  little  Mrs.  Moira  back 
to  Beryl's  baby  days.  Then  the  lullaby  swung  into 
the  deeper  tones  of  a  Christmas  anthem  and  again 
into  a  tempestuous  outburst  of  melody,  as  though 
Beryl  had  let  loose  all  at  once  the  riotous  feelings 
that  surged  within  her. 

Just  as  the  last  note  died  away  a  bell  pealed 
through  the  house.  Because  it  was  still  Christmas, 
really  being  only  nine  o'clock,  everyone  looked  for  a 
surprise.  And  a  surprise  it  was,  indeed,  when 
Harkness  placed  an  impressive  envelope  in  Robin's 
hands  and  said  that  a  stranger  had  brought  it  to 
the  door. 

"He  looked  like  one  of  these  motorcycle  men,  but 
before  I  could  as  much  as  say  'Good  evening'  he  was 
off  in  the  dark." 

Robin  studied  the  address,  which  was  printed. 
It  gave  no  clue  whatsoever.  Nor  was  there  any- 
thing else  on  the  envelope.  She  broke  the  sealed 
flap,  with  an  excited  giggle.  Five  crisp  bank-notes 
fell  out. 

"For  goodness'  sake,"  cried  Beryl,  staring. 
"Who  ever  sent  them?" 

"To  Miss  GORDON  FORSYTH.  Please  use  this  money  for  your 
House  of  Laughter.  I  am  deeply  interested  in  your  experiment. 
Frankly,  I  do  not  believe  it  will  work;  but  if  it  does  my  little 


202  RED-ROBIN 

contribution  will  be  well  spent;  and  if  it  doesn't,  my  own  con« 
viction  will  be  justified. 

YOUR   FRIEND   NEAR  THE  RUSHING   WATER." 

Beryl  squealed  with  delight.  "How  larky  to 
have  her  remember  every  solitary  thing  you  told 
her,  Robin — even  what  we  called  her  house.  What 
are  you  going  to  do  with  it  all?  I  wish  /  could 
get  money  like  that." 

Robin  stood  staring  at  the  letter — not  at  all  jubi- 
lant over  the  unexpected  gift.  "I  wish  she  hadn't 
said  she  didn't  believe  the  experiment  would  work. 
It  isn't  an  experiment  and  it  witt  work.  I'm  not 
trying  anything,  am  I?"  appealing  to  Mrs.  Lynch, 
who  hastily  assured  her  with  a  "No,  dearie  M  Then 
Robin  gathered  up  the  bank-notes. 

"Though  I  did  wish  we  had  more  nice  things 
for  the  house  and  now  we  can  get  them.  But  isn't 
this  an  awful  lot  of  money?"  For  she  had  seen 
a  one  and  two  ciphers  in  a  corner  of  one  bank-note. 
"I  never  had  so  much  in  my  life." 

At  this  Mrs.  Budge  sniffed  and,  the  Christmas 
celebration  apparently  abandoned  in  the  excitement 
of  the  strange  letter,  she  departed  kitchen  ward. 

Harkness  volunteered  to  escort  Susy  and  Mrs. 
Lynch  back  to  the  village.  In  a  twinkling  the  house 
had  quieted  so  that  the  girls'  footsteps,  as  they  climbed 
the  stairs,  resounded  strangely. 

Robin  leaned  for  a  moment  against  the  banister 


CHRISTMAS  AT  THE  MANOR      203 

and  looked  back  into  the  shadows  of  the  great,  dimly- 
lit  hall. 

"Listen  a  moment,  Beryl!  Can't  you  hear  tiny 
echoes  of  voices  and  laughter?  Don't  you  s'pose 
even  the  things  we  think  and  feel  get  into  the  air,  too 
— and  linger?" 

Beryl  tugged  at  her  arm.  "Oh,  come  on,  Robin. 
You  make  me  creepy.  You'll  be  seeing  ghosts  in  a 
moment.  I  want  to  have  a  good  look  at  that  letter. 
Wasn't  it  a  surprise,  though?" 

But  after  a  close  study  of  it,  Beryl  threw  the 
letter  down  in  disappointment.  "Not  so  much  as  a 
tiny  crown  on  it!  I'll  bet  she  had  someone  write 
it  for  her,  too.  It  looks  all  big  and  scrawly — like 
a  man.  Anyway,  Robin,  you  ought  to  keep  one  of 
the  bills  as  a  souvenir." 


CHAPTER  XVII 

THE  HOUSE  OF  LAUGHTER 

THE  day  after  Christmas,  and  for  many  days 
thereafter,  Robin  counted  over  the  five  precious  bank- 
notes. She  knew  with  her  eyes  shut  each  line  and 
shading  of  their  fascinating  decoration.  She  kept 
them  in  a  little  heart-shaped  box  that  had  been  a 
favor  at  a  studio  party  she  had  gone  to  with  Jimmie 
a  few  years  ago. 

Their  magic  opened  possibilities  for  her  House 
of  Laughter ;  curtains — cushions — books — pictures 
— games,  why,  she  could  have  all  the  things  she  had 
wanted  so  much  to  complete  her  little  cottage.  And 
behind  her  eager  planning  was  a  thought  she  kept 
shut  tight  away  in  her  heart.  If  there  were  any 
money  left — by  careful  buying — the  Queen  would 
surely  want  her  to  give  it  to  Dale  to  perfect  his 
model.  For  had  not  Adam  Kraus  and  Dale  both 
said  that  the  little  invention  would  make  everything 
at  the  Mills  better?  She  would  present  her  gift  to 
him  at  the  "opening"  of  the  House  of  Laughter. 
Mrs.  Lynch  had  assured  her  Dale  would  be  there. 
Llnder  cover  of  the  general  merriment  she  would  find 
an  opportunity.  She  went  over  and  over,  until  she 
could  say  them  backward,  the  few  words  with  which 
she  would  make  him  accept  the  money. 

Beryl,  not  knowing  what  was  going  on  in  Robin's 
204 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LAUGHTER        205 

mind,  declared  she  fussed  an  awful  lot  over  samples 
and  lists  for  anyone  wrn  had  so  much  money  to  spend 
and  Mrs.  Lynch  encouraged  her  economy  because,  she 
said,  "  'Twas  likely  as  not  the  roof 'd  leak  in  the 
Spring  and  shingles  cost  a  lot,  they  did."  When 
Robin  declared  the  lovely  rose-patterned  cretonne  too 
expensive,  Mrs.  Lynch  helped  her  dye  the  cheese 
cloth  they  bought  at  the  village  store  a  gay  yellow. 
And  she  wisely  counselled  Robin  to  let  her  write  to 
Miss  Lewis  (remembering  the  simplicity  of  the 
Settlement  House  where  she  had  worked)  and  ask 
her  to  send  up  a  few  suitable  pictures  and  the  right 
books  with  which  to  begin.  "She'll  know,  dearie." 

While  the  final  preparations  were  going  rapidly 
forward,  Mrs.  Lynch  took  pains  to  spread  the  news 
of  the  House  of  Laughter  through  the  Mill  Village 
by  the  simple  medium  of  taking  a  cup  of  tea  with 
Mrs.  Whaley  and  telling  her  all  about  it.  "It's  better 
it  is  than  the  written  word,"  she  explained  to  Robin, 
who  had  worried  over  just  how  the  Mill  people  were 
going  to  know  about  their  plans.  "And  when  you 
send  the  cute  little  cards  around  it'll  be  in  crowds 
they  come,  you  mark  me." 

"Don't  you  think  everything'll  be  ready  by  Satur- 
day night?"  Robin  asked  eagerly. 

Percival  Tubbs,  for  one,  hoped  everything  would 
be,  for  he  had  not  been  able  to  hold  Robin  to  serious 
study  since  the  holidays.  And  poor  Harkness  had 
developed  a  stitch  in  his  back  hanging  the  pictures 


206  RED-ROBIN 

Miss  Lewis  sent  and  laying  clean  white  paper  in 
cupboards  and  on  shelves. 

Though  Beryl  had  not  cared  particularly  whether 
the  windows  of  the  living  room  of  the  House  of 
Laughter  were  hung  in  rose  or  yellow,  and  laughed 
when  Robin  chose  a  scarlet-robed  picture  of  Sir 
Galahad,  because  he  looked  as  though  he  were  seeing 
such  a  beautiful  vision,  to  hang  over  the  shelf 
Williams  had  built  as  a  mantel,  she  felt  a  lively  in- 
terest in  the  festivities  which  were  to  open  the  House 
to  the  Mill  people.  Robin  let  her  help  in  planning 
everything  to  the  smallest  detail. 

The  children  were  to  come  in  the  afternoon  and 
play  outdoors  with  their  sleds  and  indoors  with  the 
books  and  games,  eat  cookies  and  cocoa  and  depart 
with  beautiful  red  and  blue  and  yellow  balloons. 
In  the  evening  the  young  men  and  women  and  the 
fathers  and  mothers  were  to  gather  in  the  living 
room  and  play  games  and  sing  and  maybe  dance 
and  lock  at  the  books  and  make  lovely  plans  and 
admire  everything.  There  would  be  sandwiches  and 
coffee  for  them,  too.  And  Robin  would  make  a 
little  speech,  telling  them  that  the  House  of  Laughter 
was  all  theirs  to  do  what  they  wanted  with  it  and 
that  the  key  would  always  hang  just  behind  the  shiny 
green  trellis.  Robin  had  demurred  at  this  last  detail, 
shrinking  in  horror  at  the  thought  of  a  "speech," 
but  Beryl  had  insisted  that  she  really  must  because 
she  was  a  "Forsyth." 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LAUGHTER        207 

Then  Robin  wrote  and  sent  to  each  of  the  Mill 
houses  cards  inviting  them  to  come  to  the  House  of 
Laughter  on  Saturday  night. 

And,  everything  ready,  she  counted  a  precious 
two  hundred  dollars  left  in  the  heart-shaped  box. 
That,  with  what  she  had  not  spent  from  her  ridicu- 
lously big  allowance,  seemed  a  fortune. 

Saturday  dawned  a  crisp,  cold,  bright  day,  prom- 
ising to  the  expectant  sponsors  of  the  House  of 
Laughter,  all  kinds  of  success.  But  at  twelve  o'clock 
a  little  group  of  mill  workers,  chosen  by  their  fellows, 
went  to  Frank  Norris,  the  Superintendent,  and  asked 
for  higher  wages  and  better  living  conditions,  Adam 
Kraus  acting  as  their  leader.  It  was  not  the  first 
time  these  complaints  and  requests  had  been  laid 
before  the  superintendent — but  now,  in  the  hearts  of 
the  hundreds  of  men  and  girls  who  hung  around 
the  yards  long  after  the  noon  whistle  blew,  a  new 
hope  kindled,  for  there  had  never  before  been  a  man 
among  them  who  could  talk  so  convincingly  as  Adam 
Kraus  or  could  more  effectually  make  old  Norris 
realize  that  they  all  knew  now,  to  a  man,  that  they 
could  get  more  money  almost  anywhere  else  and  work 
and  live  like  decent  human  beings.  Adam  Kraus 
had  opened  their  eyes.  He  was  their  hero — for  the 
moment.  As  he  came,  somewhat  precipitously, 
from  the  office  building  they  gave  a  quick  shout  that 
died,  however,  with  a  menacing  suddenness,  as  they 
saw  his  failure  written  on  his  angry  face.  They 


208  RED-ROBIN 

pressed  about  him,  eager  for  details,  but  he  would 
tell  them  nothing  beyond  a  curt  admission  that  he 
had  not  been  able  to  make  Norris  listen. 

"I  say,  go  to  the  Manor !"  cried  a  man  who  had 
not  been  at  the  Mills  more  than  a  month. 

A  strapping  girl,  with  a  coarse  prettiness,  laughed 
a  mocking  strident  laugh  that  expressed  the  feelings 
of  the  crowd  even  more  than  the  louder  curses  around 
her.  The  workers  slowly  dispersed,  in  little  groups, 
talking  in  excited,  angry  tones.  Dale  Lynch  de- 
tached himself  from  one  of  these  groups  and  walked 
on  alone,  a  frown  darkening  his  face;  nor  did  he 
shake  off  his  absorption  even  after  he  sat  down  at 
the  table  to  eat  his  mother's  good  Saturday  meal — - 
overcooked  for  standing. 

"Has  Adam  been  to  Norris  again?"  asked 
big  Danny. 

Dale  nodded.  It  was  not  necessary  for  either 
his  father  or  mother  to  ask  the  outcome  of  the  call. 
'"Norris  wouldn't  listen  to  a  word.  I've  been  won- 
dering if  Adam  is  right — about  the  way  to  get  this." 

"He  ought  to  know  more'n  you  do,"  flared  big 
Danny,  who  loved  something  upon  which  to  vent  his 
own  rancor. 

"I  suppose."  Dale  admitted,  eating  with  quick, 
absent-minded  gulps.  "I'd  like  to  be  the  head  of 
these  Mills — I'd  see  both  sides  and  make  the  other 
fellow  see,  too." 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LAUGHTER        209 

"Sure,  it's  wonderful  you'd  be,"  murmured  Mrs. 
Lynch,  caressingly. 

"Well,  I'm  about  as  far  from  it  as  I  am  from 
being  President  of  the  United  States.  Adam  has  a 
better  chance — if  he  ever  gets  his  way.  There's 
a  leader." 

Mrs.  Lynch  cut  a  generous  portion  of  apple  pie 
in  a  silence  that  said  plainly  she  did  not  agree  with 
her  boy.  Dale  ate  the  pie,  wiped  his  lips,  pushed 
back  the  plate. 

"The  Rileys  have  got  to  move  up  the  river." 

"Dale,  you  don't  say  so?"  Mrs.  Lynch  was  all 
concern  now.  The  Rileys  were  neighbors.  Tim 
Riley  had  fallen  down  an  unguarded  shaft  at  the 
Mills  and  had  hurt  his  back.  Mrs.  Lynch  had  helped 
Mrs.  Riley  care  for  her  husband  and  had  grown 
very  fond  of  the  plucky  little  woman.  "Why,  it's 
his  death  he'll  get  with  the  dampness  up  there,  and 
those  blessed  little  colleens." 

"Well,  they've  got  to  go.  Riley  can  only  work 
half-time  now  and  he  can't  afford  one  of  these 
houses." 

"Oh,  dear,  oh,  dear,"  sighed  Mrs.  Lynch.  "Don't 
tell  Robin,"  she  begged.  "It's  so  happy  the  child  is 
with  her  House  of  Laughter,  as  she  calls  it  and — 
Dale,  she's  a  different  Forsyth." 

"She's  just  a  kid,"  he  answered,  in  a  tone  that 
implied  Robin  could  have  little  weight  against  the 
impregnable  House  of  Forsyth. 
14 


2io  RED-ROBIN 

But  a  few  hours  later,  when,  with  the  coming  of 
night  into  the  valley,  the  last  tired  youngster  departed 
from  the  House  of  Laughter,  balloon  on  high,  the 
"just  a  kid"  fell  to  restoring  the  House  to  its  original 
perfection  with  a  vim  that  seemed  as  tireless  as 
her  spirits. 

"Wasn't  it  a  success?  Didn't  the  children  have 
a  wonderful  time?"  she  begged  to  know,  with  all  the 
happy  concern  of  a  middle-aged  hostess.  "Are  you 
dreadfully  tired,  Mother  Lynch?  Because  tonight's 
the  real  test."  She  stopped  suddenly  and  leaned  on 
her  broom,  her  face  very  serious.  "I  do  hope  the 
big  girls  will  like  it.  I  wish  the  Queen  hadn't  said 
she  didn't  believe  our — experiment  would  work. 
Why  won't  it  work?  Don't  grown-ups  like  to  be 
happy  just  as  much  as  children — when  they  get 
a  chance?" 

Mrs.  Lynch  had  no  answrer  for  Robin's  wonder- 
ing. "Queens  don't  know  about  things  in  this 
country,"  Beryl,  instead,  assured  her.  "These  books 
are  just  about  ruined.  I  thought  Tommy  Black 
would  eat  up  this  Arabian  Nights." 

"That  shows  how  much  they  want  them!  I 
don't  care  if  they  do  eat  them."  Robin  was  too 
happy  to  be  disturbed  by  anything.  Wasn't  her 
beautiful  plan  in  the  process  of  coming  true?  And 
didn't  she  have  her  money  in  her  pocket  all  ready 
for  Dale's  grasp? 

She  had  brought  flowers  from  the  Manor  which 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LAUGHTER        211 

she  arranged  on  the  tables  and  the  mantel  under  her 
beloved  Sir  Galahad.  These,  with  the  mellow  glow 
of  the  lamps  and  the  sun-yellow  of  the  curtains,  and 
the  gleams  of  red  from  the  shiny  stove,  which  had 
to  do  for  the  fireplace  Robin  had  wanted,  and  the 
brilliant  scarlet  of  the  Sir  Galahad,  all  served  to 
soften  and  lend  beauty  to  the  faded  bits  of  carpet- 
ing and  the  shabby  furnishings  brought  from  the 
Manor  attic. 

"I  do  think  everything's  lovely  and  it's  just  be- 
cause you've  all  been  so  kind  about  helping,"  Robin 
declared,  viewing  the  room  with  pride.  "I  hope  ever 
so  many  people'll  come  and  that  they'll  believe  it's 
theirs.  But,  oh,  Beryl,  don't  you  think  we  could 
make  them  know  without  my  saying  a  speech?" 
And  Robin  shivered  with  nervousness. 

"Of  course  not,"  Beryl  answered  with  cruel 
promptness.  "Anyway,  as  long  as  you  thought 
about  all  this  you  ought  to  get  the  credit."  Beryl 
had  no  patience  with  Robin's  "blushing-unseen" 
nature.  "It'll  be  easy,  anyway.  You  just  ought  to 
know  how  I  felt  the  day  Mr.  Henri  took  me  to 
play  for  Martini.  Why,  my  knees  turned  to  putty. 
But  then,  that  was  different.  Listen,  there  comes 
some  one  now!  I'll  stay  in  the  kitchen  until  the 
sandwiches  are  made." 

Dale  opened  the  door  and  Adam  Kraus  followed 
him  in.  Then,  while  Robin,  two  bright  spots  of 
color  burning  in  her  cheeks,  was  showing  them  the 


212  RED-ROBIN 

new  books,  a  group  of  mothers  arrived,  stiff  and 
miserable  in  their  Sunday  best,  and  she  shyly  greeted 
them.  When  another  knock  sounded  Mrs.  Lynch 
took  the  women  in  charge  so  that  Robin  might  wel- 
come the  newcomers.  They  were  four  of  the  Mill 
girls  and  they  crowded  into  the  room,  staring  curi- 
ously about  them  and  at  Robin,  whose  greeting  they 
answered  awkwardly.  Spying  Adam  Kraus,  they 
rushed  to  him  with  noisy  banter  and  laughter  that 
had  a  shrill  edge. 

Robin,  left  alone  and  without  the  courage  to 
join  either  group,  watched  the  girls  as  they  gathered 
about  Adam  Kraus  and  Dale.  Suddenly  panic  seized 
her.  She  fought  against  it,  she  told  herself  that 
everything  was  going  all  right  and  that  in  a  few  mo- 
ments more  people  would  come,  and  these  girls,  who 
looked  at  her  so  rudely  from  the  corners  of  their 
eyes,  would  forget  about  her  and  have  a  good  time. 
From  the  kitchen,  where  Harkness  was  presiding, 
came  the  first  faint  aroma  of  coffee,  and  Beryl  and 
Mrs.  Williams  were  piling  dainty  sandwiches  on 
plates  as  fast  as  their  quick  fingers  could  make  them. 
Mrs.  Lynch  and  the  mothers  seemed  to  be  gossiping 
contentedly  at  one  end  of  the  room  but  Robin  won- 
dered why  they  talked  so  low,  and  why  Mrs.  Lynch 
now  and  then  glanced  anxiously  in  her  direction ;  once 
she  heard  something  about  "the  Rileys"  and  an  im- 
ploring "hush"  from  Mother  Lynch.  Adam  Kraus 
and  the  four  girls  were  urging  Dale  to  do  something 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LAUGHTER        213 

and  Robin  saw  a  big  girl  with  bold  black  eyes  lay  a 
persuasive  hand  on  Dale's  arm,  which  Dale  shook  off 
almost  rudely.  Robin  hated  the  girl,  and  wished  she 
had  the  courage  to  break  into  the  circle  and  drag 
Dale  away  from  her,  instead  of  standing  in  such  a 
silly  way  in  the  kitchen  door  with  her  tongue  glued 
to  the  roof  of  her  mouth. 

And,  oh,  why  didn't  more  people  come?  What 
was  the  matter? 

After  what  seemed  to  Robin  an  interminable  time, 
though  in  fact  it  was  only  a  few  minutes,  Adam 
Kraus  moved  toward  her,  trailed  by  the  four  girls. 
"I've  got  to  run  along,  Miss  Forsyth,"  he  said  in 
his  easy,  soft  voice.  "There's  an  important  meeting 
in  the  village.  You've  fixed  a  nice  little  doll 
house  here." 

The  girl  with  the  black  eyes,  standing  just  back 
of  Adam  Kraus'  shoulder,  laughed — a  scornful 
laugh. 

"Too  bad  the  Rileys  can't  move  here !" 

The  Rileys  again!  Robin  flushed  at  the  girl's 
laugh  and  hateful  eyes,  tried  to  answer  Adam  Kraus 
and  to  beg  them  all  to  wait  until  Harkness  brought 
in  the  coffee,  but  found  her  throat  paralyzed  and  her 
feet  rooted  to  the  spot.  The  Mill  mothers  saw  Adam 
Kraus  and  the  girls  start  for  the  little  hall  and 
hastily  moved  in  that  direction  themselves. 

"Oh,  don't  go!"  Robin  managed  to  cry,  then, 
moving  after  them,  "Mrs.  Lynch,  make  them  stay. 


214  RED-ROBIN 

Why,  I  wanted  this  to  be  a  party,  to — to—  This  is 
your  House  of  Laughter !  I — "  She  struggled  des- 
perately to  recall  the  words  of  the  "speech"  Beryl 
had  declared  perfect  and  to  keep  from  breaking  down 
into  tears  before  these  hard,  staring  eyes. 

The  black-eyed  girl  elbowed  her  way  out  from 
behind  the  others,  casting  a  quick  look  at  Adam 
Kraus  as  though  for  his  approval.  "I  guess  you 
named  this  house  all  right,  Miss  Forsyth.  It  is  to 
laugh!  But  there  ain't  many  of  us  that  know  all 
poor  little  Mamie  Riley's  stood,  and  cares  about  her 
the  same  way  we  cared  for  Sarah  Castle  that  feels 
like  laughing  tonight!"  She  tossed  her  head  as 
though  proud  of  her  courage,  then  singled  out  Dale 
for  a  parting  shot.  "We're  sorry,  Mr.  Lynch,  that 
you're  too  good  to  come  with  us !  Ma,  (turning  to 
a  meek-faced  woman),  leave  the  door  unlocked.  The 
ineeting'll  be  a  long  one." 

And  just  as  Mrs.  Williams  patted  down  the  last 
sandwich,  Mrs.  Lynch,  with  a  shaking  hand,  closed 
the  door  and,  turning,  faced  Dale  and  Robin. 

"Well,  of  all  the  ungrateful  creatures !"  cried 
Beryl,  who  had  taken  in  the  little  scene  from  the 
kitchen  door. 

"Now  don't  you  be  a-caring,  girlie  dear,"  begged 
Mrs.  Lynch,  frightened  at  Robin's  stricken  face. 

Robin  turned  her  glance  around  the  deserted  room 
as  though  she  simply  could  not  believe  her  eyes.  It 
must  surely  be  an  awful  dream  from  which  she  would 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LAUGHTER        215 

awaken.  Mrs.  Lynch  went  on,  speaking  quickly  as 
though  to  keep  back  her  own  tears  of  disappointment. 
"It's  a  grand  time  the  kiddies  had  this  day,  bless  the 
little  hearts  of  them,  and  a  loving  you  like  you  were 
some  bit  of  a  fairy — the  impudence  of  them — " 

"Who  are  the  Rileys  ?"  demanded  Robin,  sternly 
— for  she  had  to  know;  the  Rileys  had  spoiled  her 
beautiful  plans. 

"Now  don't  you  be  a-bothering  your  bright  head 
with  the  Rileys  or  anyone  else — " 

Dale  interrupted  his  mother.  On  his  face  still 
lingered  the  dark  flush  that  had  crept  up  over  it  at 
the  black-eyed  girl's  taunt. 

"I  don't  know  why  Miss  Forsyth  shouldn't  know 
the  reason  the  Mill  people  didn't  come  tonight. 
There's  a  big  protest  meeting  about  the  Rileys — it 
wasn't  gotten  up  until  five  o'clock  or  I'd  have  told 
you.  Tim  Riley's  been  laid  up  for  six  months  and 
he's  just  back  on  half-time  and  can't  ever  do  any 
better,  I  guess — and  he's  been  ordered  out  of  his 
house  which  means — up  the  river — " 

"Up — where  Granny  Castle  lives?"  broke  in 
Robin,  in  a  queer  voice. 

"Yes.  And  it's  hard  on  Tim's  wife  and  her 
children — they're  just  little  things.  And  he  can't  go 
anywhere  else,  now.  It  seems  Tim's  wife  went  her- 
self to  Norris  and  begged  for  a  little  time  until  she 
heard  from  an  uncle  up  in  Canada  or  found  some 
way  of  earning  extra  money  herself,  and  Norris 


216  RED-ROBIN 

wouldn't  give  in   for  one   day.     The  men  are  all 
pretty  sore  and  they  called  this  meeting — " 

"That's  where  that  girl  wanted  you  to  go?" 

"Yes.  And  that's  why  Adam  Kraus  had  to 
hurry  off." 

Robin  suddenly  clutched  at  her  pocket,  her  face 
flaming.  "Dale,  will  you  hurry — down  to  that  meet- 
ing— and  take  them — this?"  She  held  out  a  thick 
roll  of  bills.  "It  maybe  isn't  enough  but  it  will  help. 
I  had  saved  it  for  something  else,  but,  oh,  those  babies 
just  can't  go  to  that  dreadful  place — " 

Dale  shook  his  head  and  put  his  hands  behind 
him. 

"That  wouldn't  go  at  that  meeting,  Miss  Forsyth. 
The  men  would  see  red.  It  isn't  charity  they  want — 
it's  justice.  They're  giving  good  honest  labor  to 
Norris  and  he  isn't  fair  in  return.  They're  willing 
to  pay  to  live  decently — they  just  want  the  chance. 
And  to  work  decently,  too.  If  you  knew  the  Rileys 
you'd  know  what  a  proud  sort  they  are — they  wouldn't 
take  your  money  any  more  than  I  would — or  mother, 
here.  If  your  aunt  were  home  or — if  you'd  go  to 
Norris — "  He  considered  a  moment,  frowning. 
"The  men  and  girls  are  so  roused  up  that  it'll  be 
only  a  step  to  organizing  and  all  that  sort  of  thing 
and  these  Mills  have  been  pretty  free  from  labor 
trouble — if  only  Norris  could  be  made  to  understand 
that.  But  he's  so  set  and  out-of-date — "  Dale 
laughed  suddenly,  a  short,  bitter  laugh,  "I  suppose 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LAUGHTER        217 

I'm  extra  sore  because  he  refused  to  even  look  at 
my  model." 

"You  all  needn't  take  your  spite  out  on  Robin," 
broke  in  Beryl,  vehemently. 

"Well — Miss  Robin  is  a  Forsyth  and  after  all 
that's  happened  today,  the  Forsyths  aren't  very  popu- 
lar with  the  Mill  people.  You  mustn't  blame  them 
too  much,"  turning  to  Robin.  "They're  not  in  the 
mood  to  be  patronized  and  they  look  upon — all  this — 
as  a  sort  of — oh,  charity." 

Robin  looked  so  bewildered  and  so  small  and  so 
distressed  that  Dale  laid  his  hand  comfortingly  on 
her  shoulder.  His  voice  rang  tender  like  his  mother's 
"Don't  you  be  aworrying  your  kind  little  heart !  And 
if  you  begin  right,  you'll  get  your  House  of  Laughter 
across  to  them — yet." 

"Oh,  what  do  you  mean?"  Robin  caught  des- 
perately at  the  straw  he  offered. 

"Let  them  pay  for  it.  They  can.  And  theyTl 
be  willing  to — when  they  get  the  idea." 

"But  I  wanted  it  to  be — my  gift." 

"The  opportunity  for  them  to  have  it  will  be 
your  gift." 

Mrs.  Lynch  suddenly  beamed  as  though  she  saw  a 
rift  in  all  the  clouds. 

"Sure,  that's  the  way  Miss  Lewis  talked.  And 
I  forgetting  it!  Let  them  pay  as  much  as  they  can 
and  it's  a  lot  more  they'll  be  a-treasuring  what's 
theirs.  And  no  charity  about  it  at  all  at  all !  These 


2i8  RED-ROBIN 

folks  are  good,  honest  folks,  dearie,  and  it's  self- 
respecting  they  like  to  feel  and  a-paying  for  what 
they  get  whether  it's  the  food  they  eat  or  a  bit  of  fun. 
It's  a  beginning,  anyway,  this  day  and  you  shan't 
grieve  your  blessed  heart  for,  if  I'm  not  mistaken, 
there'll  be  laughter  enough  in  this  house  by  and  by. 
Mind  you  what  I  said  once  about  beginnings  had  to 
come  first!"  Which  was  a  long  speech  for  Mrs. 
Lynch  and  amazingly  comforting  to  Robin. 

She  slipped  the  roll  of  bank-notes  back  into  the 
pocket  of  her  dress ;  she  could  not  even  offer  them  to 
Dale,  now.  "You're  dear  and  patient  and  I  guess 
I've  been  stupid  and  expected  too  much.  But  I 
shan't  make  any  more  mistakes  and  I'm  going  to 
make  the  most  of  my  'beginning'." 

"And  now,  Dale  boy,  why  not  have  a  bit  of  Mr. 
Harkness'  good  coffee?" 

But,  though  Beryl  and  Robin  pressed,  Dale  re- 
fused and  slipped  away  and  Robin  had  a  moment's 
picture  of  the  triumph  of  the  "horrid"  girl  when  she 
saw  Dale  come  into  the  meeting.  Then,  remember- 
ing the  plight  of  the  Rileys'  she  was  ashamed  of 
herself  for  not  wanting  Dale  to  go.  Sitting  around 
the  centre  table  she  and  Beryl  ate  sandwiches  while 
Harkness  and  Mrs.  Lynch  and  Mrs.  Williams  sipped 
coffee.  The  fire  sputtered  and  gleamed  cheerfully, 
and  Sir  Galahad's  scarlet  coat  made  a  brilliant  splash 
of  color  in  the  soft  glow  of  the  room. 

"Who  was  that  big  girl  with  the  black  eyes?" 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LAUGHTER        219 

Robin  found  the  courage  to  ask  Beryl  when  the  whole 
dreadful  evening  was  over  and  they  were  back  at 
the  Manor. 

"Oh,  she's  Sophie  Mack.  She  and  Sarah  Castle 
were  chums  and  worked  together.  Dale  says  she's 
awfully  clever  but  7  think  she's  horrid.  The  way 
she  spoke  to  him  tonight." 

Robin  agreed  that  she  was  horrid.  And  she 
hated  to  think  that  her  Prince  could  find  this  Sophie 
Mack  clever. 

Too  tired  from  the  disappointing  evening  to  want 
to  talk,  and  too  wide  awake  to  dream  of  going  to 
sleep,  she  lay  very  still  until  Beryl's  deep  breathing 
told  her  her  companion  had  slipped  into  dreamland. 
Then  she  crept  from  bed  and  crouched,  a  mite  of  a 
thing,  at  the  window  sill  and  stared  out  into  the 
brilliant  night.  A  moon  shone  coldly  over  the  snowy 
hills,  throwing  into  bold  relief  the  stacks  and  build- 
ings of  the  Mills.  Robin  recalled  that  day  she  had 
first  likened  them  to  a  Giant.  That  day  seemed — 
so  much  had  happened  since  and  she  had  grown  so 
much  inside — very  long  ago  and  she  a  silly  girl  think- 
ing stories  about  everything.  Her  guardian,  to 
amuse  her,  had  talked  about  finding  a  Jack  to  climb 
the  Beanstalk  and  kill  the  monster.  She  smiled 
scornfully  at  the  fancy — so  futile  in  the  face  of  the 
tremendous  misery — and  happiness — that  Giant  had 
the  power  to  make! 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

THE  LUCKLESS  STOCKING 

Two  hours  after  Robin's  lonely  vigil  at  the  win- 
dow ended,  fire  destroyed  the  empty  cottage  "up  the 
river"  into  which  the  Rileys  had  been  ordered 
to  move. 

"I  wish  it  had  burned  in  the  daytime  when  we 
could  have  watched  it,"  Beryl  had  declared,  almost 
resentfully.  But  Robin's  concern  had  been  for  old 
Granny  Castle  and  little  Susy. 

Harkness,  who  had  brought  them  the  news,  re- 
assured her.  "Too  bad  they  couldn't  all  a'  burned 
but  no  such  luck — only  th'  one.  It's  said  that  there 
are  some  as  knows  how  a'  empty  house  without  so 
much  as  a  crumb  to  draw  a  rat  could  a'  gone  up  like 
that  did.  And  Williams  says  as  how  there  was  men 
stood  around  and  wouldn't  lift  a  hand  to  help  put  out 
the  blaze  though  they  took  care  it  didn't  spread." 

"What  do  you  mean,  Mr.  Harkness?"  broke 
in  Robin. 

"Why,  just  this,  Missy,  Williams  says  that  there's 
a  lot  of  bad  feeling  stirrin'  and  bad  feelings  lead 
to  hasty  things  like  revenge." 

"You  mean  some  one  of  the  Mill  people  set  it 
on  fire?"  asked  Beryl  slowly,  with  wide  eyes. 

"And  who  else'd  have  bad  feelings?" 

Robin  recalled,  with  alarm,  what  Dale  had  said 
220 


THE  LUCKLESS  STOCKING         221 

at  the  House  of  Laughter.  Could  Dale  have  done 
this  thing — or  helped  ?  Or  stood  around  and  watched 
it  burn?  Oh,  no,  no — not  Dale. 

Harkness,  seeing  her  concern,  dexterously  broke 
a  soft-boiled  egg  into  a  silver  egg-cup  and  said  in  a 
carefully  casual  voice,  intended  to  put  the  fire  quite 
out  of  their  minds :  "Well,  the  constable'll  find 
the  man  what  did  it,  so  don't  you  worry  your 
head,  Missy." 

Robin,  her  heart  heavy  with  all  she  wanted  to  do 
and  couldn't  find  a  way  to  do,  swallowed  a  scream  at 
his  "Don't  you  worry  your  head."  Why  did  everyone 
say  that  to  her — just  because  she  was  little  on  the 
outside?  If  she  didn't  worry  her  head — who  was 
there  to  worry? 

It  was  with  a  heavy  spirit  she  dressed  herself — 
girded  herself,  she  called  it — for  her  call  upon  Mr. 
Norris  at  the  Mills.  The  long  hours  of  Sunday, 
through  which  she  had  to  wait,  had  filled  her  with 
misgiving.  Now  she  looked  so  absurdly  small  in  the 
mirror,  her  tousled  hair  so  childish,  no  matter  how 
much  she  tried  to  tuck  it  out  of  sight  under  the  little 
dark  blue  toque,  why  would  anyone,  especially  a 
manager  of  a  Mill,  listen  to  her? 

Beryl,  stirred  to  sympathy  by  Robin's  daring  to 
face  the  lion  in  his  den,  told  her  for  the  hundredth 
time  just  how  she  had  suffered  before  that  mo- 
mentous visit  to  Martini,  the  orchestra  leader,  in 
New  York. 


222  RED-ROBIN 

"Why,  my  hands  were  clammy  and  my  teeth  rat- 
tled and  everything  whirled  in  front  of  me  and  my 
knees  just  knocked  together,  but,  say,  I  gulped  and 
I  said  terribly  hard  to  myself,  'You  want  this  thing 
and  you  can't  get  it  if  you're  all  soft  inside  and  a 
coward',  and,  Robin,  in  a  twinkling,  something  be- 
gan to  grow  inside  of  me  and  get  big  and  big  until  I 
had  courage  to  do  anything!  Of  course  it  was 
different  with  me  but  you'll  probably  feel  just  the 
way  I  did,  all  strong  inside,  when  you  face  him  and 
get  stirred  up.  Only — I  hate  to  tell  you,  but  I  saw 
you  put  your  stocking  on  wrong  side  out  and  then 
change  it  and  that's  bad  luck!" 

Robin  looked  down  at  the  luckless  stocking.  It 
looked  too  absurdly  a  trifle  to  have  weight  with  any- 
thing as  important  as  righting  the  wrongs  of 
the  Rileys. 

Afterward,  however,  Robin  vowed  she'd  always 
take  great  care  in  her  dressing! 

Frank  Norris  had  been  superintendent  of  the 
Forsyth  Mills  for  twenty-five  years.  Since  the 
death  of  old  Christopher  Forsyth  he  had  run  them 
pretty  much  as  he  pleased,  for,  inasmuch  as  his  ac- 
counting was  accurate  to  the  smallest  fraction  and 
his  profits  unfailingly  forthcoming,  neither  Madame 
Forsyth  nor  her  financial  or  legal  advisers,  saw  fit 
to  interfere  with  him.  For  that  reason  the  old  man 
felt  annoyance  as  well  as  surprise  when  Robin  broke 
into  the  usual  routine  of  his  Monday  morning,  already 
disturbed  by  the  mystery  of  Saturday  night's  fire. 


THE  LUCKLESS  STOCKING         223 

He  had  duly  paid  his  respects  to  the  little  Forsyth 
lieir  with  a  Sunday  afternoon  call  and  had  afterward 
reported  to  Mrs.  Norris  that  she  "was  a  little  thing, 
all  red  hair  and  eyes."  But  now,  as  she  stood  at  one 
end  of  his  desk,  something  in  the  resolute  set  of 
her  chin  arrested  and  held  his  attention;  there  was 
something  more — he  could  not  at  the  moment  say 
what — to  the  "little  thing"  than  eyes  and  red  hair. 

Robin  swallowed  (as  Beryl  had  instructed)  and 
plunged  straight  into  her  errand.  Wouldn't  he  please 
let  the  Rileys  stay  in  their  cottage  for  a  little  while 
— until  something  could  be  done  ? 

At  the  mention  of  the  Rileys  the  smile  he  had 
mustered  vanished,  and  his  bushy  eyebrows  drew 
sharply  down  over  his  narrow  eyes  from  which  angry 
little  gleams  flashed. 

"Who  asked  you  to  come  to  me,  Miss  Forsyth?" 

Robin's  heart  went  down  into  her  boots.  "No 
one,"  she  answered  in  a  faint  voice.  Then,  quite  sud- 
denly, something  in  the  hard,  angry  face  opposite  her 
fired  that  spark  within  her  that  Beryl  had  assured  her 
she  would  feel.  She  felt  the  "big  thing"  grow  and 
grow  until  she  stood  straight,  quite  unafraid,  and 
could  go  on  calmly.  "Only  I  don't  think — and  I 
don't  believe  my  aunt  would  think — it  is  quite  fair 
to  put  them  out  of  their  house  when  they've  had  so 
much  trouble.  Hasn't  Mr.  Riley  always  been  a  very 
good  workman?  There  are  lots  of  things  here  I 
don't  think  quite  right,  and  when  my  aunt  comes 
back  I'm  going  to  ask  her  to  change — " 


224  RED-ROBIN 

"May  I  interrupt  you,  Miss  Forsyth,  to  inquire 
upon  what  experience  you  base  your  knowledge? 
For  I  assume,  of  course,  you  would  not  want  to 
radically  change  things  here  without  knowing  what 
you  were  offering  in  their  place.  I  was  under  the 
impression  that  you  were  quite  a  youngster  and  had 
lived  with  your  father  in  a  somewhat  Bohemian 
fashion — " 

A  deep  rose  stained  Robin's  face.  She  caught 
the  hint  of  a  slur. 

"My  father  taught  me  what  is  honest  and  fair 
and  kind  and  cruel  and — "  She  had  to  stop  to  con- 
trol the  trembling  in  her  voice.  The  man  took  ad- 
vantage of  it  by  breaking  in,  his  voice  measured  and 
conciliatory.  He  suddenly  realized  the  ridiculousness 
— and  the  danger — in  quarreling  with  even  a  fifteen- 
year-old  Forsyth. 

"My  dear  child,  I  can  readily  understand  in  what 
light  certain  conditions  appear  to  one  of  your  tender 
years.  When  you  are  older  you  will  understand  that 
an  industry  such  as  I  am  in  charge  of  here,  and 
conducting,  I  believe,  quite  satisfactorily  for  the 
Forsyths,  has  to  be  run  by  the  head  and  not  the 
heart.  I  dislike  immensely  having  to  do  such  things 
as  forcing  the  Rileys  to  move  but  you  must  see  it  is 
my  duty.  If  I  make  an  exception  in  their  case — 
there  will  be  hundreds  like  them.  As  it  happens — " 
he  let  a  rasp  of  anger  break  into  his  voice —  "the 
cottage  mto  which  they  were  to  move  was  burned 


THE  LUCKLESS  STOCKING         225 

down  Saturday  night.     However  that  will  only  delay 
the  enforcing  of  my  order  and  when  the  man  or  men 

who  set  fire  to  it  are  caught  they  will  be  dealt  with 

severely.     Your  Rileys  will  enjoy  a   few  days  of 
grace  until  we  can  put  another  into  shape." 

"If  they  burned  it  it's  because  they  had  to  show 

us— how  they  felt— that  the  place  wasn't  fit  to  live  in ! 

Mr.  Norris,  the  Mill  people  are  nice  people ;  I  heard 
—I  heard  someone  say  that  this  was  the  only  Mill 

in  all  New  England  where  real  white  folks  worked— 

but     they     think     we— I     mean— the     Forsyths— 

don't  care-" 

Norris  stood  up  abruptly.  Somehow  or  another 
he  must  end  this  absurd  interview  while  he  could 
yet  hang  on  to  his  temper.  Some  one  of  these  miser- 
able agitators— he  suspected  who  it  might  be— had 
influenced  the  girl,  was  using  her  for  a  tool.  He 
had  heard,  of  course,  of  the  intimacy  between  Miss 
Gordon  and  the  Lynchs. 

"My  dear  girl— you  have  no  idea  how  much  I 
would  like  to  go  into  all  this  with  you  and  straighten 
out  the  muddle  in  your  head— but,  really,  I  am  a 

very  busy  man.     Tell  me,  didn't  young  Dale  Lynch 

persuade  you  to  come  to  me?" 

Robin's  lips  parted  impulsively  to  deny  it — then 

closed.     Dale  had  suggested  her  coming  to  Norris. 

Before  she  could  explain,  the  man  went  on,  a  ring 

of  triumph  sharpening  his  voice. 

"Ah,  I  thought  so!     Now  let  me  tell  you  why 
15  J 


226  RED-ROBIN 

he  is  disgruntled.  I  would  not  look  at  some  con- 
trivance he  brought  to  me  which  he  claims  will,  when 
it  is  perfected,  increase  the  efficiency  of  our  looms 
fifty  per  cent.  He's  a  bright  young  fellow  but  he 
doesn't  know  his  place,  and  he's  too  chummy  with 
a  certain  man  in  these  Mills  to  be  tealthy  for  him. 
However,  I'm  looking  to  our  friend  the  town  con- 
stable to  straighten  all  that  out.  Now,  Miss  Gordon," 
with  a  hand  on  her  shoulder  he  gently  and  in  a 
fatherly  manner  led  her  toward  the  door.  "I  would 
suggest,  that,  without  the  advice  of  your  aunt — or 
your  guardian — you  do  not  worry  your  pretty  little 
red  head  over  this !"  And  he  bowed  her  with  pleasant 
courtesy  out  of  the  door. 

"Oh!  Oh!  Oh!"  Another  one  telling  her  not 
to  worry !  She  clenched  her  teeth  that  no  one  in  the 
outer  office  might  see  how  near  she  was  to  tears. 
Outside,  in  a  stifled  voice,  she  directed  Williams  to 
drive  her  back  to  the  Manor,  then  sat  very  straight 
in  the  car  as  though  those  hateful  eyes  could  pierce 
the  thick  walls  and  gloat  over  her  defeat. 

Halfway  to  the  Manor  she  remembered  suddenly 
that  she  had  quite  ignored  the  study  hours  and  that 
doubtless  poor  Percival  Tubbs  was  pulling  his  Van 
Dyke  to  pieces  in  his  rage.  Then  in  turn  she  forgot 
the  tutor  in  a  flash  of  concern  for  Dale.  That  beast 
of  a  Norris  had  said  something  about  Dale  being 
too  chummy  with  a  certain  man — and  the  constable ! 
Did  they  suspect  Adam  Kraus  and  Dale  of  setting 


THE  LUCKLESS  STOCKING         227 

fire  to  the  cottage  ?  Oh,  why  had  she  let  him  think 
Dale  had  suggested  her  interfering  for  the  Rileys — 
how  stupid  she  had  been!  If  they  arrested  Dale 
and  accused  him  it  would  be  her  own  fault.  A  fine 
way  for  her  to  repay  dear,  dear  Mother  Lynch.  What 
could  she  do? 

Beryl  met  her  with  the  warning  that  Mr.  Tubbs 
was  "simply  furious" — and  had  said  something  about 
"standing  this  vagary  about  as  long  as  he  could," 
which  did  not  mean  much  to  Robin,  not  half  so  much 
as  Beryl's  own  ill-temper,  for  the  tutor  had  taken 
the  annoyance  of  Robin's  high-handed  absentedness 
out  on  the  remaining  pupil.  With  Beryl  cross  she 
could  not  tell  her  that  she  had  gotten  Dale  into 
trouble.  She  must  meet  the  situation  alone. 

She  must  warn  Dale,  first  of  ail.  And  to  do  that 
she  must  resort  to  the  distasteful  expedient  of  hang- 
ing about  in  the  groceries-and-notions  store  until 
Dale  passed  by  after  work  or  stopped  for  mail  as 
he  might  possibly  do. 

She  found  no  difficulty  in  getting  away  alone, 
for  Beryl,  in  the  sulks,  had  buried  herself  in  the 
deep  window-seat  of  the  library.  Down  in  the  store 
she  startled  the  old  storekeeper  by  an  almost  whole- 
sale order  of  candies  and  cookies  and  topped  it  off 
by  a  demand  for  a  pink  knitting  wool,  which,  Robin 
hoped  mightily,  might  be  found  only  on  the  topmost 
shelf.  Then,  while  he  was  rummaging  and  grum- 
bling under  his  breath,  she  hurriedly  told  him  she 


228  RED-ROBIN 

didn't  want  it  and  dropped  a  crisp  five  dollar  bill  on 
the  counter,  for  the  men  were  pouring  down  the 
street  and  any  moment  Dale  might  come. 

No  coquetting  miss,  contriving  to  meet  the  lad 
of  her  fancy,  could  have  planned  things  to  more  of 
a  nicety;  Robin,  her  arms  full  of  her  absurd  pur- 
chases, came  out  of  the  store  just  as  Dale  and  Adam 
Kraus  walked  along.  It  was  not  so  much  the  un- 
usualness  of  the  girl's  being  there — and  alone,  that 
brought  Dale  to  a  quick  stop;  it  was  the  imploring 
look  in  her  wide  and  serious  eyes. 

"Where's  Beryl — or  that  chauffeur?"  He  took 
her  packages  from  her. 

"I  want  to  talk  to  you.  I  have  to.  Will  you 
walk  just  a  little  way  home  with  me?" 

"Why,  what's  up?  Of  course  I  will.  Come, 
let's  cut  through  here."  For  Dale  realized  that  many 
curious  eyes  were  staring  at  them,  and  not  too  kindly. 
Someone  laughed.  He  would  be  accused  of  "truck- 
ling" to  a  Forsyth,  which,  just  then,  was  likely  to 
bring  contempt  upon  him. 

Neither  he  nor  Robin  saw  the  incongruous  pic- 
ture they  made;  she  in  her  warm  suit  of  softest 
duvetyn  and  rich  with  fur,  he  in  his  working  clothes, 
swinging  a  dinner  pail  in  one  hand  and  in  the  other 
balancing  her  knobby  packages.  All  she  thought  of 
was  that  this  was  Dale,  the  Prince  who  had  once 
befriended  her,  whose  make-believe  presence  had 
often  gladdened  her  lonely  childhood  hours,  and  who 


THE  LUCKLESS  STOCKING         229 

was  in  danger  now;  and  he  looked  down  into  the 
little  face  under  its  fringe  of  flame-red  hair  and 
wondered  what  in  the  world  made  it  so  tragic  and 
why  it  strangely  haunted  him  as  belonging  to  some 
far-off  picture  in  the  past. 

Vehemently,  because  it  had  been  bottled  up  so 
long,  Robin  told  him  how  afraid  she  was  for  him — 
that  Norris  had  as  much  as  said  he  suspected  him  and 
Adam  Kraus,  and  that  the  constable  might  arrest 
them  any  moment  and  wouldn't  he  please — go  away 
« — or — or  something? 

"He  says  you're  disgruntled  'cause  he  wouldn't 
look  at  your  'toy.'  He's  terribly  mad  about  every- 
thing— I  could  see  it  in  his  horrid  eyes.  Oh,  I  hate 
him!"  she  finished. 

They  had  left  the  village  and  were  close  to  the 
bend  in  the  road  where  stood  the  House  of  Laughter. 
Dale  stopped  short  and  threw  his  head  back  with  a 
loud  laugh.  Robin  had  wondered  in  her  heart  with 
what  courage  her  Prince  would  take  the  news  of 
his  danger  but  she  had  not  expected  this !  However, 
his  laugh  softened  the  lines  of  his  face  until  it  looked 
boyish  and  oh,  so  much  like  it  had  that  night  long  ago 
when  she  had  been  lost. 

"Well,  here  I  am  laughing  away  and  forgetting 
to  thank  you  for  wanting  to  help  me.  But  you 
needn't  be  afraid  for  me,  Miss  Robin.  There  is  still 
a  little  justice  in  the  world,  in  spite  of  men  like 
Norris,  and  I  can  prove  to  anyone  that  I  was  snug  in 


230  RED-ROBIN 

my  bed  until  my  mother  dragged  me  out  to  go  off 
up  to  the  old  village.  I  can't  say  I  helped  fight  the 
fire — what  was  the  use  ?  Nothing  could  have  saved 
the  old  place.  And  I'd  rather  like  to  shake  hands 
with  the  man  who  set  it  on  fire,  though  it  was  sort 
of  a  low-down  trick.  Norris  won't  house  anyone  in 
that  rat-hole." 

An  immense  relief  shone  in  Robin's  face.  She 
knew  Dale  had  not  done  the  "low-down  trick."  She 
wished  she  had  made  Norris  believe  it! 

"About  the  toy — "  Dale  went  on,  soberly. 
"Maybe  in  the  end  it'll  be  a  good  thing  for  me  that 
Norris  turned  it  down.  Adam  Kraus  has  taken  it 
and  he's  going  to  have  some  little  metal  contrivances 
made  that  it  had  to  have  and  then  he'll  take  it  to 
Grangers'  and  he  feels  pretty  sure  that  Granger  will 
buy  it.  Only  I  had  a  sort  of  feeling  that  I  wanted 
it  used  here — you  see  these  mills  gave  definite  shape 
to  this  thing  that  has  been  growing  in  my  head  for 
a.  long  time,  just  like  verses  in  a  poet's.  I  went  to 
a  technical  night  school  for  years,  you  know,  and  I 
couldn't  get  enough  of  the  machine  shop.  One  of 
the  teachers  in  the  school  got  this  job  for  me  here. 
I'd  never  been  outside  of  New  York  before  and  I 
thought  this  was  Heaven,  honest." 

"Mr.  Norris  said  you  claimed  it  would — oh, 
something  about  efficiency,"  Robin  floundered. 

Dale  nodded.  "I  not  only  claim,  I  know.  That 
Mttlc  thing  of  mine  attached  to  the  looms  here  would 
revolutionize  the  whole  industry  for  the  Forsyths. 


THE  LUCKLESS  STOCKING         231 

You  see  these  Mills  are  way  behind  times  in  their 
equipment ;  with  improved  looms  they  could  turn  out 
more  work,  pay  better  wages,  and  give  the  men 
better  living  and  working  conditions.  And  men — 
the  sort  they  have  here — will  work  better  with  up-to- 
date  things  around  them;  gives  them  an  up-to-the- 
minute  respect  for  their  job." 

Robin  stamped  her  foot  in  one  of  her  impetuous 
bursts  of  anger. 

"He  ought  to  be  made  to  buy  it !"  she  cried. 

Dale  turned  to  her  and  stared  at  her  intently. 

"You're  a  funny  little  thing.  Why  do  you  care 
so  much?" 

Robin  had  a  wild  longing  to  bring  back  to  his 
mind  that  November  night,  long  ago,  when  he  had 
found  her  clinging  abjectly  to  the  palings  of  the 
park  fence  and  had  taken  her  home,  that  she  had 
declared  then  that  he  was  her  play-prince  and  that 
she  would  hunt  for  him  until  she  found  him !  And, 
quite  by  coincidence,  she  had  found  him  and  now 
she  wanted  to  do  this  thing  for  him  and  not  entirely 
to  help  the  Forsyth  Mills!  But  if  she  told  him — 
and  he  laughed — her  pretty  pretend  would  be  all 
over  and,  because  it  belonged  to  that  happy  childhood 
in  the  bird-cage  with  Jimmie,  it  was  precious  and 
she  did  not  want  to  lose  it — yet. 

So  she  flushed  and  answered  shyly:  "I — don't 
— know." 

"I'm  ever  so  much  obliged,  Miss  Robin,  for  your 
interest  and  your  worry — over  me.  It  gives  a  fe4- 


232  RED-ROBIN 

low  a  jolly  feeling  of  importance  to  know  that  a  little 
girl  is  bothering  her  head  over  his  luck.  And  Miss 
Robin,  you've  made  things  tremendously  bright  for 
my  mother  this  winter — and  for  my  father,  too.  I 
didn't  know  whether  mother'd  be  happy  her  in  Was- 
sumsic  after  being  so  busy  in  New  York  but  it  was 
the  only  way  I  could  stop  her  from  working  her  head 
off  and  I'd  decided  my  shoulders  were  broad  enough 
to  support  my  family.  And  you've  done  a  lot  for 
Beryl,  too.  I  can  see  it." 

"Oh,  don't!"  cried  Robin.  As  if  she  could  let 
him  thank  her  for  Mother  Lynch — as  if  the  debt 
were  not  on  her  side.  They  had  reached  the  Manor 
gate  now  and  Dale  handed  her  the  packages. 

"Everything  will  come  out  all  right,  Miss  Robin, 
so  don't  you  be  worrying  your  little  head,"  he  ad- 
monished and  strangely  enough  Robin  answered  him 
with  a  smile.  He  was  different. 

But  Robin's  "bad"  day  had  not  ended  yet.  Beryl's 
"sulk"  had  grown,  like  the  gathering  clouds  of  an 
impending  storm,  into  a  big  gloom  that  did  not 
lighten  even  when,  after  dinner,  the  girls  were  left 
alone  in  the  library  with  their  beloved  "one  thousand 
and  seventy-four"  books.  From  over  the  edge  of 
"Vanity  Fair"  Robin  watched  anxiously  the  preoccu- 
pation and  shadow  on  Beryl's  face. 

(Oh,  why  had  she  changed  that  inside -out 
stocking ! ) 

"Beryl,  what  is  the  matter?" 

"Nothing." 


THE  LUCKLESS  STOCKING          233 

"There  is.  You  won't  read  or  talk  or — 
anything." 

"Well,  I  don't  feel  like  it." 

"What  do  you  feel  like — inside  ?"  persisted  Robin. 

"Like — nothing.     Just  like  it." 

"Beryl,  are  you  discouraged  about — your  music  ?" 

Robin  put  her  finger  so  accurately  upon  the  sore 
spot  that  Beryl  winced.  Robin  added :  "You  ought 
not  to  be — you're  wonderful !" 

"I'm  not.  You  think  so  'cause  you  don't  know ! 
I  can't  get  something  I  used  to  have.  I  had  it  when 
I  played  on  Christmas  night  and  oh,  I  felt  as  though 
I'd  always  have  it — it  just  tingled  in  my  fingers  and 
made  my  heart  almost  burst  and  then — it  went  away. 
I  can't  rouse  it  now.  I  don't  even  know — what 
made  it  come — inside  me.  But  I  do  know  that  I'm 
as  far  away  from — what  I  want,  really  working  and 
getting  ahead — as  I  ever  was.  Further,  way  off  here. 
At  least  when  I  was  in  New  York  I  had  dear  old 
Jacques  Henri  to  help  me !" 

Robin's  book  tumbled  to  the  floor.  She  had  an 
odd  feeling  as  though  Beryl — the  first  girl  friend 
she  had  ever  had — might  be  slipping  away  from  her. 
"You  want  to  go  back  to  New  York?"  she  asked 
stupidly. 

"Of  course,  silly.     There  isn't  anything,  here." 

"Then  you  ought  to  go.  Beryl,  you  must  go. 
I'm  going  to  give  you  the  rest  of  the  money — what 
I  saved  from  the  Queen's  Christmas  gift  and — and 
— my  allowance.  Oh,  please,  Beryl,  don't  look 
like  that!" 


234  RED-ROBIN 

"Thanks !"  Beryl's  voice  rang  cold.  "But  I'm 
not  reduced  to  charity,  yet.  Of  course  I've  been 
kidding  myself  that  I  earn  all  the  money  you  pay  me 
for  living  here — with  a  few  clothes  thrown  in. 
Don't  think  I  don't  know  what  those  horrid  creatures 
at  the  Mills  say  about  me  being  proud  and  too  stuck- 
up  to  work  like  Dale  and  the  others.  They  even 
taunt  Dale.  I  hate  myself  when  I  think  of  it.  And 
all  I'm  earning  wouldn't  keep  me  very  long — if  I  ever 
did  go  to  study.  Oh,  I  just  hate — hate — hate  being 
poor!"  Her  voice  broke  in  a  great  sob. 

Robin  wanted  to  throw  her  arms  about  her  and 
comfort  her  but  she  was  afraid  for  Beryl  looked  like 
a  different  being.  And,  while  she  hesitated,  Beryl 
flung  herself  out  of  the  room. 

Robin  stared  into  the  fire,  little  lines  of  worry 
and  perplexity  wrinkling  her  face.  Everything  was 
so  stupidly  hard ;  no  matter  what  she  tried  or  wanted 
to  do — she  ran  up  against  a  wall  of  pride.  Her  poor 
little  treasured  money  that  she  had  kept  in  the  heart- 
shaped  box!  If  she  had  had  it  in  her  hands  then 
she  would  have  thrown  it  into  the  fire. 

Oh,  for  a  chance  to  do  something,  give  something 
that  could  not  be  counted — and  spurned — in  dollars 
and  cents! 


CHAPTER  XIX 

GRANNY 

THOROUGHLY  exhausted  by  the  nervous  strain  of 
the  day  before  Robin  slept  late.  When  she  awakened 
it  was  to  the  alarming  realization  that  Beryl  was 
not  with  her — her  bed  was  empty,  the  room  deserted, 
from  the  bathroom  came  no  sound  of  splashing  water, 
with  which  Beryl  usually  emphasized  her  morn- 
ing dip. 

The  unhappy  happenings  of  the  evening  just  past 
flashed  into  Robin's  mind.  Beryl  had  not  even  said 
good-night,  had  pretended  to  be  asleep.  What  if 
she  had  gone  away  from  the  Manor? 

The  thought  was  so  upsetting  that  Robin  dressed 
in  frantic  haste,  paying  careful  regard  to  her  stock- 
ings, however,  and  tumbled  down  the  stairs,  almost 
upsetting  Harkness  and  a  tray  of  breakfast. 

"Where's  Beryl?"  she  demanded. 

"Miss  Beryl's  gone,  Missy.  She  got  up  early 
and  went  off  directly  she  had  breakfast." 

"Did  she — did  she  have  a  bag?"  faltered  poor 
Robin. 

"Why,  yes,  Missy,  she  had  that  bag  she  come  with 
'near  as  I  can  remember.  Didn't  she  tell  you  she 
was  gomg?" 

"Well — not  so  early,"  Robin  defended. 

"If  it's  a  quarrel,  and  young  people  fall  out  more 

235 


236  RED-ROBIN 

times  'n  not,  Missy,  don't  you  feel  badly.  Miss 
Beryl'll  be  back  here,  mark  my  words !  She's  smart 
enough  to  know  when  things  are  soft." 

"Don't  you  ever,  ever  say  that  again,  Harkness! 
Beryl  didn't  want  to  stay  here  in  the  first  place. 
She's  proud  and  she's  fine  and  she  had  ambitions 
that  are  grander  than  anything  the  rest  of  us  ever 
dreamed  of.  It's  just  because  it  is  soft  here  that 
she  didn't  want  to  stay.  She  thought  she  wasn't 
really  earning  anything.  I  should  think — "  and  oh, 
how  her  voice  flayed  poor  trembling  Harkness,  "I 
should  think  if  you  cared  anything  about  me  you'd 
be  dreadfully  sorry  to  have  me  left  alone  here — " 

"Now,  Missy !  Miss  Robin !  Old  Harkness'll  go 
straight  down  to  the  village  and  bring  Miss  Beryl — " 

Robin  laid  her  hand  on  the  old  man's  arm.  "I 
just  said  that  to  punish  you.  No,  I'll  be  very  lone- 
some here  but  I  will  not  send  for  Beryl.  We'll  get 
along  someway.  If  I  only  were  not  rich,  everything 
would  go  all  right,  wouldn't  it,  Mr.  Harkness?" 

"Well,  I  don't  just  get  your  meaning  but  I  wilt 
And  I  guess  so,  Missy.  Arid  now  what  do  you 
say  to  a  bite  of  breakfast — fetched  hot  from  the 
kitchen  to  your  own  sunny  room?" 

Robin  knew  she  would  break  the  old  man's  heart 
if  she  refused  his  service  so  she  climbed  back  up  the 
stairs  to  the  sunny  window  of  the  deserted  sitting- 
room  and  awaited  the  tray  of  hot  breakfast.  And 
as  she  sat  there  her  eyes  suddenly  fell  upon  Cynthia, 


GRANNY  237 

sitting  straight  among  the  cushions  of  the  chaise 
longue,  staring  at  her  with  faded,  unblinking  eyes. 
Beryl  had  not  taken  the  doll ! 

A  great  hurt  pressed  hard  against  Robin's  throat. 
Beryl  had  wanted  to  make  her  feel  badly.  But  why 
— oh,  what  had  she  done? 

"You  can  stay  there,  Cynthia.  /  won't  touch 
you,"  she  cried,  turning  to  the  window,  and  at  the 
same  time  she  registered  the  vow  in  her  heart  that 
by  no  littlest  word  or  act  of  hers  should  Beryl  knovr 
how  her  desertion  had  hurt  her. 

A  week  of  stormy  weather,  which  made  the  roads 
almost  impassable,  helped  Robin.  She  threw  herself 
into  her  studies  with  a  determination  almost  as  up- 
setting to  Percival  Tubbs  as  her  former  indifference. 
And  when  the  studies  were  over  she  buried  herself  in 
the  great  divan  before  the  library  fire  with  books 
piled  about  her  while  Harkness  hovered  near  at  hand, 
watching  her  with  an  anxious  eye. 

Robin  did  not  always  read  the  open  page.  Some- 
times, holding  it  before  her,  she  let  her  mind  go  over 
word  by  word  what  Dale  had  said  to  her  as  they 
walked  home  from  the  store.  It  had  not  been  much, 
to  be  sure,  but  it  had  been  enough  to  make  her  feel 
that  her  Prince  had  opened  his  heart  to  her,  oh,  just 
a  tiny  bit.  With  her  blessed  powers  of  imagination 
and  with  what  Beryl  had  told  her  from  time  to  time 
concerning  him,  she  could  put  everything  together 
into  a  beautiful  picture. 


238  RED-ROBIN 

Dale  was  splendid  and  brave — he  had  not  been 
afraid  of  being  poor!  And  he  dreamed,  too,  like 
Sir  Galahad,  but  a  dream  of  machinery.  And  he 
had  had  a  beautiful  light  in  his  face  when  he  had 
said  that  about  his  shoulders  being  broad  enough  to 
support  his  family.  Oh,  Robin  wished  she  could  see 
him  in  a  scarlet  coat  like  Sir  Galahad  wore  in 
the  picture. 

The  snowstorm  abating,  Robin  sent  Williams  to 
the  village  with  a  basket  of  flowers  for  Mrs.  Lynch 
and  fruit  for  big  Danny,  and  Williams  brought  back 
a  tenderly  grateful  little  note  from  Mrs.  Lynch — but 
not  a  word  from  Beryl. 

"Everything  must  be  all  right  or  she'd  have  told 
me,"  Robin  assured  herself.  "Anyway  Mr.  Norris 
would  be  afraid  to  arrest  anyone  like  Dale." 

What  Robin  did  not  know — for  it  was  not  likely 
to  disturb  the  Manor — was  that  something  far  crueller 
than  Norris  was  claiming  the  anxiety  of  the  Mill 
workers.  A  malignant  epidemic  had  lifted  its  ugly 
head  and  had  crept  stealthily  into  several  homes, 
claiming  its  victims  in  more  than  one.  Norris  feared 
an  epidemic  more  than  labor  trouble ;  unless  it  could 
be  quickly  stamped  out  it  gave  the  Mills  a  bad  name 
and  made  it  difficult  to  get  hands.  So,  at  its  first 
appearance  he  called  the  Mill  doctor  into  consultation, 
and  urged  him  to  do  everything  in  his  power  to  check 
the  advance  of  the  disease. 

The  Mill  doctor,  an  overworked  man,  wanted  to 
tell  Norris  that  it  was  a  pity  that  the  whole  "old 


GRANNY  239 

village"  had  not  gone  up  in  smoke,  but  he  refrained 
from  doing  so;  instead  spoke  optimistically  of  the 
weather  being  in  their  favor,  and  went  away. 

On  an  afternoon  three  weeks  after  Beryl's  sudden 
and  inexplainable  departure,  the  drowsy  quiet  of  the 
old  Manor  was  broken  by  a  shrill  voice  lifted  in 
frenzied  protest  against  Harkness'  deeper  tones.  It 
brought  Percival  Tubbs  from  his  nap,  Mrs.  Budge 
from  the  pantry  and  Robin  from  the  library.  There 
in  the  hall  stood  poor  little  Susy,  her  old  cap  pushed 
back  from  her  flaming  cheeks,  her  eyes  dark  with 
fright,  struggling  to  escape  from  Harkness'  tight 
hold. 

At  sight  of  Robin  her  voice  broke  into  a  stran- 
gling sob. 

"Oh!  Oh!  Oh!" 

"She  won't  tell  me  her  errand,"  explained 
Harkness,  looking  like  a  guilty  schoolboy  caught  in 
a  bully's  act. 

"Harkness,  shame  on  you!  Let  her  go,"  cried 
Robin. 

Freed  from  Harkness'  hold  Susy  ran  to  Robin 
and  clasped  her  knees.  She  was  shaking  so  violently 
that  she  could  do  nothing  more  than  make  funny, 
incoherent  sounds  which  were  lost  in  the  folds  of 
Robin's  skirt. 

"See  how  you've  frightened  her!  Susy-girl, 
don't.  Don't.  You're  with  the  big  girl.  Tell  me, 
what  is  the  matter?" 

Suddenly  Susy  pulled  at  Robin's  hand  and,  still 


240  RED-ROBIN 

sobbing,  dragged  her  resolutely  toward  the  door. 
Robin  caught  something  about  "Granny." 

"Something  dreadful  must  have  happened  to 
frighten  her,"  Robin  declared  to  the  others.  "Won't 
you  tell  Robin,  Susy?  Do  you  want  Robin  to  go 
with  you  to  Granny's?" 

At  this  Susy  nodded  violently,  but  when  Robin 
moved  to  get  her  wraps  she  burst  forth  in  renewed 
wailing  and  clung  tightly  to  Robin's  hand. 

"Harkness,  please  get  my  coat  and  hat  and  over- 
shoes. I'm  going  back  with  Susy.  Something's 
happened — " 

"Miss  Gordon,  indeed,  you  better  not — "  im- 
plored Harkness. 

"Hurry !  Haven't  you  tormented  the  poor  child 
enough ?  Don't  stand  there  like  wood.  If  you  don't 
get  my  things  at  once  I'll  go  bareheaded !" 

Harkness  went  off  muttering  and  Percival  Tubbs 
advanced  a  protest  which  Robin  did  not  even  hear, 
so  concerned  was  she  in  soothing  poor  Susy. 

In  a  few  moments  she  was  hurrying  down  the 
winding  drive  which  led  to  the  village,  with  difficulty 
keeping  up  with  Susy,  leaving  behind  in  the  great 
hall  of  the  Manor  an  annoyed  tutor,  a  worried  butler 
and  an  outraged  housekeeper. 

More  than  one  on  the  village  street  turned  to  stare 
at  the  strange  little  couple,  Susy,  pale  with  fright, 
two  spots  of  angry  red  burning  her  cheeks,  running 
as  though  possessed,  and  Robin  limping  after  her 


GRANNY  241 

with  amazing  speed  and  utterly  indifferent  to  anyone 
she  met. 

As  they  neared  the  old  village  Susy's  pace  sud- 
denly slowed  down  and  Robin  took  advantage  of 
that  to  ask  her  more  concerning  Granny. 

"Granny's  queer  and  all  cold  and  she  won't  speak 
to  me,  she  won't!"  Susy  managed  to  impart  be- 
tween gasps. 

A  terrible  fear  gripped  Robin.  Perhaps  Granny 
was  dead!  And  her  apprehension  was  confirmed 
when  a  neighbor  of  the  Castles  rushed  out  to  head 
her  off. 

"Don't  go  in  there!  Don't  go  in  there!"  she 
cried,  waving  the  shawl  she  had  caught  up  to  wrap 
around  her  head.  "They've  got  the  sickness.  The 
old  woman's  dead.  Tommy's  staying  at  Welch's. 
My  man's  reportin'  it  this  mornin'.  Poor  old  woman, 
went  off  easy,  I  guess,  but  it's  hard  on  the  kid.  Say, 
Miss,  you  oughtn'  get  close  to  her.  It's  awful 
catchin'  and  you  c'n  tell  by  the  look  o'  her  she's  got 
it,  too."  And  the  neighbor  edged  away  from  Susy. 

In  a  sort  of  stupefied  horror  Robin  looked  at  the 
neighbor,  the  wretched  house  and  Susy.  Susy  had 
begun  to  cry  again,  quietly,  and  to  tremble  violently. 

"Susy  Castle,  you  go  like  a  good  girl  into  the 
house  n'  stay  'til  the  doctor  comes  and  takes  you," 
commanded  the  woman.  "Don'  you  come  near  any- 
one! Y'  got  the  sickness!  See  y'  shake!" 

"Go  'way!"  screamed  Susy,  clinging  to  Robin. 
16 


242  RED-ROBIN 

Robin  pulled  her  fur  from  her  throat  and  wrapped  it 
about  the  shivering,  sobbing  child. 

"Yer  takin'  awful  chances,  miss — just  awful," 
warned  the  neighbor,  edging  backward  toward  her 
house  with  the  air  of  having  completed  her  duty. 
"If  y'  take  my  advice  you'll  leave  the  kid  there  'til 
some'un  comes.  They'll  likely  take  her  t'  the  poor- 
house!"  And  with  this  cheerful  assumption  she 
slammed  her  door. 

"There!  There!  Robin'll  take  you  home.  Don't 
cry,"  begged  Robin,  kneeling  in  the  path  and  encir- 
cling poor  little  Susy  in  her  arms.  "We'll  go  back 
to  the  big  house  and  Robin'll  make  you  nice 
and  warm." 

"I  want  Granny!"  wailed  the  child,  feeling  her 
miserable  little  world  rocking  about  her. 

Robin  straightened  and  looked  at  the  house. 
Granny  was  dead,  the  neighbor  had  said;  nothing 
more  could  be  done  for  her.  But  something  in  the 
desolation  of  the  place,  the  boarded  door,  the  dingy 
window  stuffed  with  its  rags,  smote  Robin.  Poor 
Granny  must  have  died  all  alone.  No  one  had  even 
whispered  a  good-bye.  And  she  lay  in  there  all  alone. 
Robin  knew  little  of  death ;  to  her  it  had  always  meant 
a  beautiful  passing  to  somewhere,  with  lovely  flowers 
and  music  and  gentle  grief.  This  was  horribly 
different — there  was  no  one  left  but  little  Susy  and 
she  was  going  to  take  Susy  away  at  once.  Ought 
she  not  to  just  go  softly  into  that  house  and  do 


GRANNY  243 

something — something  kind  and  courteous  that 
Granny,  somewhere  above,  might  see — and  like? 

"Wait  here,  Susy.  I'll  be  back  in  a  moment." 
She  walked  resolutely  around  to  the  door  which 
Susy,  in  her  flight,  had  left  half-open.  At  the 
threshold  a  cold  dread  seized  her,  sending  shivers 
racing  down  her  spine,  catching  her  breath,  bringing 
out  tiny  beads  of  moisture  on  her  forehead.  She 
had  never  seen  a  dead  person — had  she  the  courage  ? 

She  tiptoed  softly  into  the  room,  her  eyes  staring 
straight  ahead.  In  its  centre  she  stopped  and  looked 
slowly,  slowly  around  as  though  dragging  her  gaze 
to  the  object  she  dreaded — across  the  littered  table, 
the  cupboard,  the  stove  crowded  with  unwashed  pots 
and  pans,  the  dirty  floor,  an  overturned  chair,  the 
smoke-blackened  lamp  and  last — last  to  the  bed. 
There,  amid  the  tumbled  quilts,  lay  poor  Granny. 

Robin  swallowed  what  she  knew  was  her  heart 
and  walked  to  the  bed.  "Granny,"  she  said  softly, 
because  she  had  to  say  something,  then  almost 
screamed  in  terror  at  the  sound  of  her  own  voice. 
Strangely  enough  there  was  a  smile  on  the  worn, 
thin  lips.  In  her  high-strung  condition  Robin 
thought  it  had  just  come — she  liked  to  think  it  had 
just  come.  It  gave  her  courage.  She  smoothed  the 
dirty  gray  covers  and  folded  them  neatly  across  the 
still  form,  careful  not  to  touch  the  withered  hands. 
Then  she  looked  about.  Her  eyes  lit  on  the  faded 
pink  flowers  that  still  adorned  the  what-not.  Moving 


244  RED-ROBIN 

with  frightened  speed  she  caught  them  up  and  care- 
fully laid  them  on  Granny's  breast. 

"They  were  beautiful  once  and  so  was  poor 
Granny.  Good-bye,  Granny,"  she  whispered,  mov- 
ing backward  toward  the  door.  Out  in  the  air  she 
leaned  for  a  moment  weakly  against  the  door  jamb — 
then  resolutely  pulled  herself  together,  and  carefully 
closed  the  door  behind  her. 

Susy  stood  where  she  had  left  her.  "Come, 
Susy,  let's  hurry,"  Robin  cried.  Catching  the  child's 
hand  she  broke  into  a  run,  wondering  if  she  could 
get  back  to  the  Manor  before  that  dreadful  sickening 
thing  inside  of  her  quite  overcame  her. 

But  at  that  moment  Williams  appeared  in  the 
automobile,  jumped  from  the  seat  and  caught  Robin 
just  as  she  started  to  drop  in  a  little  heap  to 
the  ground. 

"Miss  Robin!"  he  cried  in  alarm. 

The  feel  of  his  strong  arms  and  the  warmth  and 
shelter  of  his  great  coat  sent  the  life  surging  back 
through  Robin's  veins.  She  laughed  hysterically. 

"Take  us  home,  quick,"  she  implored.  And  so 
concerned  was  Williams  that  he  made  no  protest  at 
lifting  Susy  into  the  car. 

Both  Harkness  and  Mrs.  Budge,  with  different 
feelings,  were  waiting  Williams'  return  in  the  hall 
of  the  Manor.  Harkness,  with  real  concern,  (he 
had  despatched  Williams)  and  Mrs.  Budge  with  de- 
fiance. She  had  just  announced  that  she'd  stood 


GRANNY  245 

about  as  much  as  any  woman  "who'd  give  her  whole 
life  to  the  Forsyths  ought  t'  be  expected  to  stand" 
when  Robin  half -carried  Susy  into  the  Manor. 

"Harkness,  please — Susy's  very  ill.  Will  you 
carry  her  to  my  room  and  call  the  doctor?" 

"You'll  do  no  such  thing  while  /  stay  in  this 
house,"  announced  Mrs.  Budge,  stepping  forward 
and  placing  her  bulk  between  Harkness  and  Susy. 
"Bringing  this  fever  what's  in  the  village  to  this 
house!  Not  if  my  name's  Hannah  Budge.  We've 
had  just  'bout  as  much  of  these  common  carryings- 
on  as  I'll  stand  for  with  Madame  away  and — " 

"But,  oh,  please,  Mrs.  Budge,  Susy's  very  sick 
and  her  grandmother's  just  died  and  she's  all  alone ! 
Harkness,  won't  you?" 

"Oh,  Missy,  I  think  Budge — "  began  Harkness, 
his  eyes  imploring. 

Robin  stamped  her  foot. 

"Shame  on  you  all!  You're  just  afraid.  Will 
you  call  a  doctor  at  least — one  of  you?  Get  out  of 
my  way !"  And  half  carrying — half  dragging  Susy, 
Robin  staggered  to  the  stairs  and  slowly  up  them. 

Poor  Robin  vaguely  remembered  Jimmie  once 
commanding  Mrs.  Ferrari  to  put  one  of  her  brood 
into  a  tub  of  hot  water  into  which  he  mixed  mustard. 
So  Robin  filled  her  gleaming  tub  with  hot  water  and 
quickly  undressed  Susy  and  put  her,  wailing,  into  it. 
Then  she  rushed  to  the  pantry,  commandeered  a 
yellow  box,  fled  back  and  dropped  a  generous  portion 


246  RED-ROBIN 

of  its  contents  into  the  tub.  Next  she  spread  a  soft 
woolly  blanket  on  her  bed,  wrapped  another  around 
the  child  and  rolled  her  in  both  until  nothing  but  the 
tip  of  a  pink  nose  showed. 

She  found  Harkness  hovering  outside  in  the  hall 
and  ordered  him  to  bring  hot  lemonade  at  once, 
taking  it  a  few  minutes  later  from  him  through  the 
half -open  door  with  a  gleam  of  contempt  in  her  eyes 
which  said  plainly  "Coward."  She  slowly  fed  Susy, 
watching  the  child's  face  anxiously  and  wishing  the 
doctor  would  come  quickly. 

After  an  interminable  time  Dr.  Brown  came,  a 
little  shaky,  and  gray-eyed  and  very  concerned  over 
his  call  to  the  Manor.  After  a  careful  examination 
he  reported  to  Percival  Tubbs  and  Harkness  that 
the  child  was,  indeed,  desperately  ill ;  that  by  no  means 
could  she  be  moved — although  it  was  of  course  a  pity 
that  Miss  Forsyth  had  so  impulsively  brought  her 
to  the  Manor  and  thus  exposed  herself ;  that  the  crisis 
might  come  within  the  next  twenty- four  hours,  for 
evidently  the  disease  was  well  advanced  before  the 
grandmother  succumbed ;  that  he  would  telegraph  at 
once  for  a  fresh  nurse  from  New  York  as  tke  one  in 
the  village  was  at  the  breaking  point  from  overwork ; 
and  that  he,  himself,  would  come  back  and  stay  with 
the  child  through  the  night. 

It  was  a  most  dreadful  night  for  ereryone  in  the 
Manor — except  Percival  Tubbs,  who  had  slipped 
quietly  to  the  station  and  taken  the  evening  train 


GRANNY  247 

to  New  York.  Harkness  sat  outside  of  Robin's  door, 
his  ear  strained  for  the  slightest  sound  within.  And 
Mrs.  Budge  worked  far  into  the  night  writing  a  letter 
to  Cornelius  Allendyce,  commanding  that  gentleman 
to  come  to  the  Manor  and  see  for  himself  how 
things  were  going  and  put  an  end,  once  and  for  all, 
to  the  whole  nonsense — that  she'd  up  and  walk  out  if 
it  weren't  for  her  loyalty  to  Madame  Forsyth,  a 
loyalty  sadly  strained  in  the  last  few  months.  Of 
course  she  did  not  write  all  this  in  just  these  same 
words  but  she  made  her  meaning  very  clear. 

Behind  the  closed  door  Dr.  Brown  and  Robin 
fought  for  the  little  life.  Only  once  the  tired  doctor 
said  more  than  a  few  words — then  it  was  to  tell  Robin 
that  she  had  shown  remarkable  judgment  in  her  care 
of  Susy  and  that — if  the  child  pulled  through — it 
would  be  due  entirely  to  her  prompt  and  thorough 
action.  This  little  thought  helped  Robin  through  the 
long  hours,  when  her  weary  eyelids  stuck  over  her 
hot,  dry  eyes  and  her  head  ached.  All  night  she 
willingly  fetched  and  carried  at  the  doctor's  com- 
mand, stepping  noiselessly,  sometimes  lingering  at  the 
foot  of  the  bed  to  watch  the  little  face  for  a  sign 
of  change. 

Far  into  the  morning  the  vigil  lasted.  Then  Dr. 
Brown,  his  face  haggard  but  his  eyes  shining,  whis- 
pered to  Robin  to  go  off  downstairs  and  eat  a  good 
breakfast — that  Susy  was  "better." 

"You  mean — she'll— get  well?" 


248  RED-ROBIN 

The  doctor  nodded.  "I  believe  so.  She's  sleep- 
ing now.  Go,  my  dear." 

Robin  peeped  at  the  child's  face.  The  deadly 
pallor  and  the  purple  flush  of  fever  had  gone,  the 
lips  and  eyelids  had  relaxed  into  the  natural  repose 
of  sleep.  She  tiptoed  into  the  hall,  deserted  for  the 
moment,  down  the  stairs,  and  into  the  kitchen.  Mrs. 
Budge  turned  as  she  pushed  open  the  door. 

"I — I — "  The  warm,  sweet  smell  of  the  room 
sent  everything  dancing  before  Robin's  eyes.  She 
reached  out  her  hand  as  though  groping  for  support. 
"Oh,  I — "  Then  she  crumpled  into  Mrs.  Budge's 
arms. 

Now  that  faithful  soul,  having  sent  off  her  letter 
to  the  lawyer-man,  had  given  herself  over  to  worry, 

lest  once  more  the  "curse"  was  to  visit  the  House  of 
Forsyth.  Not  that  it  could  mean  much  to  Madame, 
for  she  hadn't  set  eyes  on  this  girl  Gordon,  but  it 
gave  her,  Hannah  Budge,  a  sick  feeling  "at  the  pit 
of  her  stomach"  to  think  of  things  going  wrong 
again!  So  when  Robin  just  dropped  into  her  arms 
like  a  dead  little  thing  she  stood  as  one  stunned, 
passively  awaiting  a  relentless  Fate. 

"Quick — she's  fainted.  Let  me  take  her !  Fetch 
water,"  ordered  Harkness. 

"Fetch  it  yourself!  I  guess  I  can  hold  her!" 
retorted  Budge,  tightening  her  clasp.  And  as  sho, 
looked  down  at  Robin  she  remembered  how  Robin 
kad  kissed  her  on  Christmas  night.  Something 


GRANNY  249 

within  her  that  was  hard  like  rock  commenced  to 
soften  and  soften  and  grow  warm  and  glow  all 
through  her.  Her  eyes  filled  with  tears  and  because 
both  hands  were  occupied  and  she  could  not  wipe 
them  away,  she  shook  her  head  and  two  bright  drops 
rolled  down  her  cheeks  into  Robin's  face.  At  that 
moment — even  before  Harkness  brought  his  water — 
Robin  stirred  and  opened  her  eyes  and  smiled. 

"Oh— where  am  I?  Oh— yes.  Oh,  I'm  so 
hungry!" 

But  Budge  was  certain  Robin  was  desperately 
ill;  under  her  direction  Harkness  carried  her  to 
Madame's  own  room  while  Mrs.  Budge  followed  with 
blankets  and  a  hot  water  bottle.  At  noon  the  nurse 
arrived  from  New  York,  and  that  evening  the  word 
spread  to  every  corner  of  Wassumsic  that  little  Miss 
Forsyth  had  the  "sickness." 


CHAPTER  XX 

ROBIN'S  BEGINNING 

ROBIN  had  done  something:  that  couldn't  be 
counted — or  spurned — in  dollars  and  cents. 

From  door  to  door  in  the  village  the  story  spread ; 
how  Robin  had  gone  into  the  stricken  cottage  which 
even  the  neighbors  shunned,  and  had  performed  a 
last  little  act  (and  the  only  one)  of  respect  for  poor 
old  Granny,  then,  with  her  own  fur  around  the  child'C 
neck,  had  taken  Susy  back  to  the  Manor.  The  doctor 
told  of  Robin's  sensible  care  and  how  ably  she  had 
shared  with  him  the  night's  long  vigil.  The  story 
was  told  and  re-told  with  little  embellishments  and 
often  tears ;  the  girls  in  the  Mill  repeated  each  detail 
of  it  over  their  lunches,  the  men  talked  about  it  in 
low  tones  as  they  walked  homeward. 

And  Robin's  little  service  had  a  remarkable  effect 
upon  the  Mill  people.  Tongues  that  had  been  most 
bitter  against  the  House  of  Forsyth  suddenly  wagged 
loudest  in  Robin's  praise;  some  boldly  foretold  the 
beginning  of  a  "better  day."  All  felt  the  stirring  of 
a  certain,  all-promising  belief  that  a  Forsyth,  even 
though  a  small  one — "cared." 

But  what  was  to  be  the  cost,  they  asked  one  an- 
other,, with  anxious  faces? 

Upon  hearing  that  Robin  herself  was  ill,  Beryl 
had  rushed  to  the  Manor,  in  an  agony  of  fear.  Robin 

260 


ROBIN'S  BEGINNING  251 

mustn't  be  sick — she  couldn't  die !  It  was  too  dread- 
ful— She  ought  never  to  have  gone  into  Granny 
Castle's  house — or  touched  Susy. 

Among  the  books  Robin  loved  so  well  Beryl 
waited  in  a  dumb  misery  for  hours,  for  some  word. 
Harkness  only  shook  his  old  head  at  her  and  Mrs. 
Budge  ignored  her.  Finally,  standing  the  suspense 
as  long  as  she  could  she  crept  to  the  stairs  and  up 
them  and  in  the  hall  above  encountered  a  cherry- 
faced  white-garbed  young  woman. 

"May  I  see  Robin,  please?"  she  implored 
desperately. 

The  young  woman  looked  at  her,  hesitating. 
"Are  you  Beryl  ?"  she  asked.  Beryl  nodded.  "Then 
you  may  go  in  for  a  few  moments  but  don't  let  that 
old  man  and  woman  know — they've  been  hounding 
me  to  let  them  see  her  and  I've  refused  flatly." 

"Oh,  thank  you  so  much.  There's  something  I 
have  to  tell  Robin  before — "  Beryl  simply  could  not 
say  it.  She  closed  her  lips  with  tragic  meaning. 

The  nurse  stared  at  her  a  moment  with  a  hint 
of  a  laugh  in  her  eyes,  then  nodded  toward  the  door. 

"Second  door,  there.  Only  a  minute!"  And 
then  she  went  on. 

Beryl  opened  the  door,  softly,  her  heart  pounding 
against  her  ribs.  What  if  Robin  were  too  ill  to  talk, 
to  even  listen — 

Beryl  had  never  seen  Madame's  bed  room.  It 
took  a  moment  for  her  to  single  out  the  great  canopied 


252  RED-ROBIN 

bed  from  the  other  mammoth  furnishings — or  to  take 
in  the  small  figure  that  occupied  the  exact  centre 
of  that  bed. 

"Beryl!"  came  a  glad  cry  and  Beryl  stared  in 
amazement  for  the  little  creature  who  smiled  at  her 
from  a  pile  of  soft  pillows  looked  like  anything  but 
a  sick  person ;  the  vivid  hair  glowed  with  more  alive- 
ness  than  ever,  a  pink,  like  the  inner  heart  of  a  rose, 
tinted  the  creamy  skin.  A  tray  remained  on  a  low 
table  by  the  bed,  its  piled  dishes  indicative  of  a  feast. 
Beryl's  amazed  eyes  flashed  last  to  these  then  back 
to  Robin's  smiling  face. 

"Oh,  Beryl,  I'm  so  glad,  glad  you  came !"  Robin 
reached  out  her  arms  and  Beryl  rushed  into  them, 
clasping  her  own  close  about  Robin. 

"I — I  thought  you  were  dreadfully  sick,"  she 
gasped,  at  last.  She  drew  back  and  looked  at  Robin 
accusingly.  "Everyone  thinks  you're  dreadfully 
sick." 

"Then  I  suppose  I  ought  to  be,"  laughed  Robin, 
"I'm  not,  though,  I  never  felt  better  in  my  life.  But, 
oh,  right  after  I  knew  Susy  would  get  well  everything 
inside  of  me  seemed  to  break  into  little  pieces.  Then 
that  nice  Miss  San  ford  came  and  put  me  to  bed  and 
nursed  and  petted  and  fed  me  and — here  I  am.  She 
says  I  cannot  get  up  until  tomorrow.  I'm  so  anxious 
to  see  Susy !" 

Beryl,  still  holding  Robin's  hand,  stared  off  into 
space,  uncomfortably.  She  had  come  to  the  Manor 


ROBIN'S  BEGINNING  253 

to  tell  Robin  (before  Robin  should  die)  that  she 
had  been  a  mean,  selfish,  ungrateful  thing  to  run 
away  from  the  Manor  the  way  she  had  done  and 
stay  away — and  to  beg  for  Robin's  forgiveness. 
Now  she  found  it  difficult  to  say  all  this  to  a  pinky, 
glowing  Robin,  and  Robin,  instinctively  guessing 
what  was  passing  in  Beryl's  mind,  made  her  plea 
for  forgiveness  unnecessary  by  asking,  with  a 
tight  squeeze  of  Beryl's  hand:  "You  won't  go 
away,  again?" 

"No— at  least — if  you  want  me — if — "  she 
stumbled. 

"//  I  want  you — Beryl  Lynch!  It  was  too 
dreadful  living  here  all  alone  with  only  Mr.  Tubbs 
and  Harkness  and  Mrs.  Budge.  But,  Beryl,  I  think 
maybe  everything  will  be  different  now;  the  first 
thing  I  knew  after  I  fainted  was  that  Mrs.  Budge  was 
crying!  Think  of  it,  Beryl,  crying — and  over  me! 
And  Mr.  Tubbs  ran  away." 

"Really,  truly?" 

"Yes — the  poor  thing  was  scared  silly.  He  didn't 
tell  a  soul  he  was  going  and  after  he  reached  New 
York  he  telephoned." 

"Dale  says  everyone  at  the  Mills  is  talking  about 
you,  Robin — and  what  you  did." 

"Why,"  Robin's  face  sobered,  "I  didn't  do 
—anything." 

"Well,  Dale  says  your  going  in  to  poor  old 
Granny  the  way  you  did  has  made  everyone  like 


254  RED-ROBIN 

you.  And  they  were  getting  awfully  worked  tip 
against  the  Forsyths  and  the  Mills.  I  will  admit 
it  seems  funny  to  me — making  such  a  fuss  over  such 
a  little  thing.  I  wish — as  long  as  you're  all  right 
now — you  had  done  something  real  heroic,  like  jump- 
ing into  the  river  to  save  someone  or  going  into  a 
burning  building." 

"Oh,  I'd  have  never  had  the  courage  to  do  that," 
protested  Robin,  shuddering. 

At  that  moment  the  nurse  put  her  head  in  the  door. 

"Three  minutes  are  up,"  she  warned. 

"Please,  can't  she  stay?"  begged  Robin,  in  alarm. 

"I  must  go  home,  anyway,  Robin,  to  tell  mother. 
You  have  no  idea  how  anxious  she  is — everyone  is. 
People  hang  around  our  door.  I  suppose  they  think 
we  have  the  latest  news  about  you.  Well,  we  have, 
now.  And,  Robin — mother  was  awfully  angry  about 
my — leaving  you  the  way  I  did.  She  begged  me  to 
come  back,  long  ago.  I'm  sorry,  now,  I  didn't. 
Good-bye,  Robin.  I'll  be  back,  to-morrow." 

Beryl  walked  to  the  village  in  a  deep  absorption 
of  thought.  Certain  values  she  had  fostered  had 
tumbled  about  and  had  to  be  put  in  order.  Here 
were  not  only  hundreds  of  mill  folk  making  a  "fuss" 
over  what  Robin  had  done,  but  the  household  of 
the  Manor  as  well — old  Budge,  usually  as  adamant 
as  a  brick  wall,  crying!  No  one  loved  the  heroic 
more  than  Beryl,  but  to  her  thinking  it  lay  in  a 
spectacular,  and  with  a  dramatic  indifference,  risking 


ROBIN'S  BEGINNING  255 

one's  own  life  for  another,  not  in  a  little  unnecessary 
sentimental  impulse.  When  she  had  heard  of  what 
Robin  had  done  she  had  declared  her  "crazy"  to 
go  near  the  Castles,  to  which  her  mother  had  indig- 
nantly replied :  "And  are  you  thinking  the  blessed 
child  ever  thinks  of  herself  at  all?"  That  was  the 
quality,  of  course,  about  Robin  that  you  never  guessed 
from  anything  she  said  but  that  you  just  felt.  And 
the  Mill  people  were  feeling  it  now. 

Turning  these  thoughts  over  and  over,  Beryl 
suddenly  faced  the  disturbing  conviction  that  she 
was  moulding  her  own  young  life  on  very  opposite 
lines.  Tell  herself  as  often  as  she  liked — and  it  was 
often — that  she'd  had  to  fight  to  get  everything  she 
had  and  to  keep  it,  she  knew  that  it  never  crossed 
her  mind  to  ask  herself  what  she  was  giving — to 
Dale,  who  carried  a  double  burden,  to  poor  big  Danny, 
to  her  brave  little  mother  who  had  sheltered  her  so 
valiantly  from  the  coarsening  things  about  her  that 
she  might  keep  "fine"  and  have  "fine"  things. 

The  next  day  the  nurse  let  Robin  dress,  to  poor 
Harkness'  tearful  delight.  And  Robin,  roaming  the 
house  as  though  she  had  returned  to  it  from  a  long 
absence,  found,  indeed,  the  change  she  had  prophe- 
sied. For  Mrs.  Budge,  in  strangely  genial  mood, 
was  fussily  preparing  more  delectable  invalid  dishes 
than  a  dozen  convalescing  Susies  or  well  Robins  could 
possibly  eat. 

One   little   cloud,   howerer,   shadowed  Budge's 


256  RED-ROBIN 

relief.  She  wished  she  hadn't  sent  the  letter  to  the 
lawyer-man.  "If  I'd  remembered  how  my  grand- 
mother always  said  to  look  out  for  the  written  word, 
and  held  my  tongue,"  she  mourned  and  so  complete 
was  her  transformation  that  she  forgot  she  had 
written  that  letter  while  in  full  pursuit  of  her  duty 
to  the  Forsyths — as  she  had  seen  it  then. 

Upon  this  new  order  of  things  Cornelius  Allen- 
dyce  arrived,  unheralded,  and  very  tired  from  a  long 
journey.  Budge's  letter  had  been  forwarded  to  him 
at  Miami  where  he  had  been  pleasantly  recuperating 
from  his  siege  of  sciatica.  It  had  disturbed  him 
tremendously,  and  he  had  spent  the  long  hours  on 
the  railroad  train  upbraiding  himself  for  his  neglect 
of  his  ward.  The  conditions  at  which  Budge  had 
clumsily  hinted  grew  more  serious  as  he  thought  of 
them,  until  he  found  himself  wondering  if  perhaps 
he  ought  not  to  smuggle  his  little  ward  back  to  her 
fifth-floor  home  before  Madame  discovered  the  havoc 
she  had  made  of  the  Forsyth  traditions. 

Outwardly,  the  Manor  appeared  the  same,  to  the 
lawyer's  intense  relief.  Within,  the  most  startling 
change  seemed  the  laughing  voices  that  floated  out 
to  him  from  the  library.  Harkness  took  his  coat 
and  hat  and  bag  a  little  excitedly  and  with  repeated 
nods  toward  the  library. 

"Miss  Robin'll  be  mighty  glad  to  see  you,  I'm 
sure;  but  she  has  a  lydy  guest  for  dinner." 

"The  man  actually  acts  as  though  I  had  no  right 


ROBIN'S  BEGINNING  257 

to  come  unannounced,"  thought  Cornelius  Allendyce. 

Robin  met  him  with  a  rush  and  a  glad  little 
cry.  "I  thought  you  were  never,  never  coming! 
I'm  so  glad.  But  why  didn't  you  send  us  word? 
I  want  you  to  know  Beryl's  mother  and  Beryl. 
They're  my  best  friends.  And,  oh,  I  have  so  much 
to  tell  you!" 

"Mrs.  Lynch !"  A  line  of  Budge's  letter  flashed 
across  the  man's  mind,  yet  he  found  himself  talking 
to  a  gentle-faced  woman  with  grave  eyes  and  a  tender, 
merry  mouth.  And  Beryl  (whom  Budge  had  called 
"that  young  person")  did  not  seem  at  all  coarse  or 
unwholesome.  He  did  not  notice  that  the  clothes 
both  wore  were  simple  and  inexpensive — he  only 
registered  the  impression  that  the  mother  seemed 
quiet  and  refined  and  the  girl  had  a  frank  honesty 
in  her  face  that  was  most  pleasing. 

Robin,  indeed,  had  so  much  to  tell  him  that  he 
made  no  effort  to  get  "head  or  tail"  to  it;  rather  he 
lost  himself  in  wonder  at  the  change  in  his  little 
ward.  This  spirited,  assured  young  person  could  not 
be  the  same  little  thing  he  had  left  months  ago. 
She'd  actually  grown,  too. 

He  laughed  at  Robin's  description  of  the  deser- 
tion of  Percival  Tubbs. 

"Poor  man,  I  guess  I'd  driven  him  crazy,  any- 
way. I  simply  couldn't  learn  the  lessons  he  gave  me. 
But,  oh,  I  haven't  wasted  my  time,  truly,  for  I've 
gotten  more  out  of  these  precious  books  here  than 
17 


258  RED-ROBIN 

I  ever  got  out  of  school.  Guardian  dear,  they've 
made  me  grow.  I  don't  think  my  pretend  stories 
any  more,  either.  I  can't  seem  to,  for  everything 
about  me  is  so  real  and  so  big  and  so — so  important." 
Robin  imparted  this  information  with  a  serious  note 
in  her  voice — as  though  she  feared  her  guardian 
might  be  sorry  that  she  had  put  her  childish  "pre- 
tends" behind  her. 

"Dear  me,"  he  said,  "then  we  won't  know 
^vhether  you  meet  the  Prince  in  the  last  chapter  and 
live  happily  ever  after?  You  have  grown  up;  I 
can't  get  used  to  it." 

Robin  blushed  furiously  at  this  and  changed  the 
subject  lest  her  guardian  could  glimpse  under  her 
flaming  hair  and  guess  the  one  pretty  "pretend" 
she  still  cherished. 

While  the  girls  were  upstairs  Mrs.  Lynch  told 
Cornelius  Allendyce  the  story  of  Susy,  and  Robin's 
visit  to  the  old  house.  She  told  it  simply  but  in 
its  every  detail  so  that  Robin's  guardian  could  follow 
it  very  closely.  He  listened,  with  his  eyes  dropped  to 
the  rug  at  his  feet,  and  for  a  few  moments  he  kept 
them  there,  so  that  Mrs.  Lynch  wondered  if  he  were 
angry.  Then  suddenly  he  looked  at  her  and  a  smile 
broke  over  his  face. 

"Our  little  girl's  letting  down  a  few  barriers, 
isn't  she  ?"  he  asked,  and  Mrs.  Lynch,  understanding 
him  with  her  quick  instinct,  nodded  with  bright  eyes. 

"Ah,  'tis  true  as  true  what  my  old  Father  Murphy 


ROBIN'S  BEGINNING  259 

once  said  to  me — that  wealth  is  what  you  give,  not 
what  you  get!" 

The  most  amazing  thing  to  the  lawyer  in  the  new 
order  was  the  cheerful  importance,  and  the  new 
geniality  of  Hannah  Budge.  Accustomed  as  he  was, 
from  long  acquaintance  with  the  family,  to  her  sour 
nature,  he  caught  himself  watching  her  now  in  a  sort 
of  unbelief.  He  understood  her  attentiveness  to  his 
comfort  when  she  touched  his  arm  and  begged  a 
word  with  him. 

"It's  about  that  letter,"  she  whispered,  her  eyes 
rolling  around  for  any  possible  eavesdropper.  "I'll 
ask  you  not  to  tell  Miss  Gordon  nor  Timothy 
Harkness.  I'm  old  and  new  ways  are  new  ways 
but  I'll  serve  Miss  Gordon  as  I've  always  served 
the  Forsyths." 

A  dignity  in  the  old  housekeeper's  surrender 
touched  Cornelius  Allendyce.  He  patted  her 
shoulder  and  told  her  not  to  worry  about  the  letter; 
to  be  sure  it  had  spoiled  a  rather  nice  golf  match 
but  he  ought  to  have  run  up  to  Wassumsic 
long  before. 

"The  little  girl  I  found  isn't  such  a  bad  Forsyth, 
after  all?"  he  could  not  resist  asking  her,  however. 
But  Harkness,  appearing  at  that  moment,  spared 
Mrs.  Budge  the  unaccustomed  humiliation  of  ad- 
mitting she  had  been  wrong. 

After  dinner  Robin  persuaded  her  guardian  to 
walk  with  them  to  the  village  while  they  escorted 


260  RED-ROBIN 

"Mother  Lynch"  home,  and  then  stop  at  the  House 
of  Laughter.  There,  Beryl  lighted  the  lamps  and 
Robin  led  a  tour  of  inspection  through  the  rooms, 
telling  her  guardian  as  they  went,  of  her  beautiful 
plans  and  their  failure.  At  a  warning  sign  from 
Beryl  she  regretfully  left  out  the  generous  contribu- 
tion of  their  mysterious  Queen  of  Altruria.  Most 
of  the  furniture,  she  explained,  had  come  from  the 
Manor  garrets. 

While  they  were  talking  a  knock  sounded  at  the 
door.  Robin  opened  it  to  find  Sophie  Mack  and 
three  companions  standing  on  the  threshold. 

"Mrs.  Lynch  said  she  thought  you  were  up  here," 
Sophie  explained,  awkwardly.  "We're  getting  up  a 
social  club  and  we  want  to  know  if  you'll  let  us 
meet  here." 

"Of  course  you  can  meet  here!"  Robin  made 
no  effort  to  control  the  surprise  in  her  voice.  "That's 
what  this  little  house  is  for." 

"Maybe  you'll  join,  sometime.  As  an  honorary 
member  or  something  like  that — "  one  of  Sophie's 
companions  broke  in. 

"Oh,  I'd  love  to." 

"We  want  to  pay,  you  know,"  persisted  Sophie. 

"Of  course — anything  you — think  you  can." 

The  girls,  refusing  Robin's  invitation  to  go  into 
the  cottage,  turned  and  went  back  to  the  village. 
Robin  closed  the  door  and  leaned  against  it  with  a 
long-drawn  breath  of  delight. 

"Guardian  dear,   that's  the   beginning.     Dale's 


ROBIN'S  BEGINNING  261 

right — they'll  use  it,  if  I  let  them  pay.  Why  are 
you  laughing  at  me?" 

Cornelius  Allendyce's  face  sobered.  He  drew  the 
girl  to  him. 

"I'm  not  laughing.  I'm  only  marvelling  at  the 
leaps  and  bounds  with  which  your  education  has  gone 
forward.  Some  people  die  at  an  old  age  without 
acquiring  one  smallest  part  of  the  human  under- 
standing you  are  learning  through  these — notions — 
of  yours." 

Robin  made  a  little  face.  "Notions !  Beryl  calls 
them  'crazy  ideas.'  Someone  else  called  them  an 
'experiment.'  Dear  Mother  Lynch  is  the  only  one 
who  really  believes  in  what  I  want  to  do.  You  see, 
I  just  want  the  people  here  to  think  that  a  Forsyth 
cares  whether  they're  happy  or  not.  Dale  says  I 
didn't  start  right  and  maybe  I  didn't — but  anyway — " 
— She  nodded  toward  the  door  as  though  Sophie 
might  still  be  on  the  threshold,  "they're  a  beginning !" 

Her  guardian  did  not  answer  this  and  looked  so 
strange  that  Robin  went  no  further  in  her  confidences. 
Perhaps  something  had  displeased  him,  she  must  wait 
until  some  other  time  to  tell  him  about  Dale  and  his 
model  and  her  visit  to  Frank  Norris. 

Back  in  the  library,  before  the  crackling  fire, 
Robin  begged  Beryl  to  play  for  her  guardian. 

"She's  wonderful,"  she  whispered  while  Beryl 
was  getting  the  violin.  "She  makes  you  feel  all 
funny  inside." 

Beryl  stood  in  the  shadow  and  played.     Robin, 


262  RED-ROBIN 

watching  her  guardian,  thrilled  with  satisfaction  when 
the  man's  face  betrayed  that  he,  too,  felt  "all  funny 
inside"  under  the  magic  of  Beryl's  bow. 

"Come  here,  my  girl,"  he  commanded  when  Beryl 
stopped.  He  bent  a  searching  look  upon  her. 
"Come  here  and  sit  down  and  tell  me  about  yourself." 

"Didn't  I  say  she's  wonderful?"  chirped  Robin, 
triumphantly. 

The  lawyer's  adroit  questioning  brought  out 
Beryl's  story — of  the  simple  home  in  the  tenement 
from  which  her  mother  shut  out  all  that  was  coarsen- 
ing and  degrading,  stirring  her  child's  mind  and  her 
tastes  with  dreams  she  persistently  cherished  against 
disheartening  odds ;  of  the  Belgian  musician  who  had 
first  taught  her  small  fingers  and  fired  her  ambitions 
for  only  the  best  in  the  art ;  of  school  and  the  lessons 
she  devoured  because  she  craved  knowledge  and  the 
advantages  of  possessing  it. 

"How  long  have  you  lived  here?" 

"We  came  last  summer.  Dale  wanted  to  work 
where  there  were  machines  and  he  got  a  job  in  the 
Forsyth  Mills." 

"You  are  planning  to  go  back  to  New  York 
and  study?" 

Beryl's  face  clouded.  "Sometime.  But  I  can't 
until  I  earn  the  money,  and  it  takes  such  a  lot." 

"Yes,  and  courage,  too,"  added  the  lawyer  softly, 
as  though  he  were  speaking  to  himself. 

Beryl  abruptly  lifted  her  violin  from  her  lap  to 
put  it  in  the  case.  As  she  did  so,  its  head  caught 


ROBIN'S  BEGINNING  263 

in  the  string  of  green  beads  which,  in  honor  of  the 
occasion,  she  was  wearing.  The  slender  cord  that 
held  them  snapped  and  the  pretty  beads  scattered  over 
the  floor. 

"Oh,  dear!"  cried  Beryl,  dismayed,  dropping  to 
her  knees  to  find  them. 

Robin  helped  her  search  and  in  a  few  moments 
they  had  gathered  them  all. 

"They're  only  beads  but  they're  very  old  and  a 
keepsake,"  Beryl  explained,  in  apology  for  her  mo- 
ment's alarm. 

"They're  pretty  and  they're  darling  on  you!" 

"A  wonderful  color."  The  lawyer  took  one  and 
examined  it.  "If  you  care  for  them  you'd  better 
let  me  take  them  back  to  New  York  with  me  and 
have  them  strung  on  a  wire  that  will  not  break." 

"Oh,  let  him,  Beryl.  And  he  can  have  a 
good  clasp  put  on.  You  know  you  said  that  clasp 
was  poor." 

Beryl  hesitated  a  moment.  Ought  she  to  tell  him 
the  beads  were  her  mother's  and  that  her  mother 
prized  them  dearly?  No,  he  might  laugh  at  anyone's 
caring  a  fig  about  just  plain  beads.  She  took  the 
envelope  Robin  brought  her,  dropped  the  beads  into 
it,  sealed  it,  and  gave  it  to  Robin's  guardian. 

Cornelius  Allendyce  slept  little  that  night.  He 
laid  it  to  the  extreme  quiet  of  the  hills;  in  reality 
his  head  whirled  with  the  amazing  impressions  that 
had  been  forced  upon  him. 

"Extraordinary!"   he  muttered,   staring  at   the 


264  RED-ROBIN 

night  light.  And  he  repeated  it  again  and  again; 
once,  when  he  thought  of  the  little  woman,  Mrs. 
Lynch,  with  the  dreaming  eyes  which  seemed  to 
see  beyond  things.  What  was  the  absurd  thing  she 
had  said?  "  'Tis  what  you  give  and  not  what  you 
get  is  wealth."  Extraordinary!  And  where  had 
Robin  picked  up  these  notions  concerning  the  Mill 
people?  And  her  House  of  What-did-she-call-it ? 
There  was  considerable  significance  about  it.  Un- 
canny, downright  uncanny,  though,  for  a  girl  her  age 
to  have  such  a  far-reaching  vision.  Probably  the 
child  didn't  realize,  herself.  Well,  there  was  Jeanne 
d'Arc,  and  others,  too,  he  pondered,  hazily.  And 
this  talented  girl  Robin  had  found — a  most  unusual 
girl,  who'd  grown  up  in  a  tenement  like  a  flower 
among  weeds,  yes,  he'd  seen  such  flowers  growing 
amid  rankest  vegetation !  She  was  not  unlike  Robin, 
herself.  His  mind  circled  to  Robin's  own  little 
fifth-floor  nest  and  the  horrible  odors  of  that  dark 
stairway.  Strange,  extraordinary,  that  these  two 
lives  had  crossed.  "This  world's  a  queer  world!" 
Both  girls  brought  up  in  a  poverty  that  denied  them 
all  those  jolly  sort  of  advantages  young  girls  liked, 
and  yet  each  sheltered  by  a  mother's  great  love  from 
the  things  in  poverty  that  coarsen  and  hurt.  "Aye, 
a  mother's  love,"  and  the  little  lawyer  thought  of 
"Mother  Lynch"  with  something  very  akin  to  rever- 
ence ;  and  of  Jimmie,  too,  poor  Jimmie,  who,  in  his 
stumbling,  mistaken  way,  had  tried  to  give  a  mother's 
love  to  Robin. 


ROBIN'S  BEGINNING  265 

But  suddenly  the  man  aroused  from  his  absorbed 
philosophizing  and  sat  bolt  upright  in  bed.  All  right 
to  think  about  letting  down  barriers — whose  barriers 
were  they?  Proud  old  Madame  loved  those  barriers 
— and  she'd  never  accept,  as  Budge  had,  what  Budge 
called  the  "new  ways."  What  then?  "There'll  be 
a  reckoning — " 

With  a  sharp  little  exclamation  of  annoyance  the 
distraught  guardian  drew  his  watch  from  under  his 
pillow  and  held  it  to  the  tiny  shaft  of  light.  "Half- 
past-one !"  Well,  he  did  not  need  to  cross  that  bridge 
until  he  came  to  it !  He  dug  his  tired  head  into  his 
pillow  and  went  to  sleep  to  dream  of  Madame  Forsyth 
and  Robin  and  Jeanne  d'Arc  sitting  in  a  social  club 
at  the  House  of  Laughter. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

AT  TBTE  GRANGER  MILLS 

"*3  REALI  Y  think,  little  Miss  Robin,  that  you  ought 
logo." 

"Why,  I  should  think  you'd  be  crazy  to  go!" 

"If  I  may  be  so  hold's  to  remind  you,  the  man  is 
waiting  for  an  answer." 

Robin  looked  from  her  guardian's  face  to  Beryl's 
to  Harkness'. 

"You're  all  conspiring  against  me,  I  do  believe !" 
she  cried.  "I'll  go  if  you  say  I  ought  to,  but  I  just 
hate  to.  I  don't  want  to  meet  the  young  people, 
there.  And  I'm  dreadfully  afraid  of  Mrs.  Granger 
since  Susy  spoiled  her  dress." 

"Mrs.  Granger  was  one  of  your  Aunt  Mathilde's 
closest  friends — until  the  death  of  young  Christopher. 
Then,  in  the  strange  mood  your  aunt  encouraged,  she 
let  the  intimacy  drop.  I've  often  wondered  if  the 
Grangers  did  not  resent  that.  You  have  an  oppor- 
tunity now,  Robin,  to  restore  the  old  terms  between 
the  two  families,  so  that  when  your — aunt  returns 
she  will  find  the  old  tie  awaiting  her." 

Robin  stared,  wide-eyed,  at  her  guardian.  It  was 
the  first  time  he  had  spoken  of  her  aunt's  return. 

"When  is  my  aunt  coming  back?     Do  you  know 
I  never  think  of  her  coming  back  ?     Isn't  that  dread- 
ful?    I  know  she  won't  like  me — " 
266 


AT  THE  GRANGER  MILLS          267 

"Don't  let's  worry  about  that  now,"  broke  in 
Cornelius  Allendyce  with  suspicious  haste.  And 
Harkness,  standing  stiffly  by  the  table,  waiting  in- 
structions, fell  suddenly  to  rearranging  the  books  and 
magazines  which  had  been  in  perfect  order. 

Mrs.  Granger's  chauffeur  had  brought  a  note  to 
the  Manor  asking  Robin  to  make  them  a  few  days' 
visit  during  the  coming  week.  "My  son  and  daughter 
have  some  young  people  here  and  you  will  find  it 
a  lively  change  from  the  quiet  of  your  aunt's" 

Robin  used  her  last  argument.  "But  you've 
only  been  here  for  a  few  days,  guardian  dear.  And 
there's  a  lot  more  I  want  to  tell  you — oh,  that's 
very  important." 

"Can't  it  watt  until  I  come  again?  I'd  have  to 
go  back  to  New  York  to-morrow,  my  dear,  anyway. 
Come,  this  little  visit  of  yours  is  as  necessary  to  your 
education  as  a  Forsyth  as  any  of  Mr.  Tubbs'  tire- 
some lessons.  And  then,  as  I  said,  you  can  win 
back  my  lady  Granger's  affection." 

"Well,  I'll  go,"  cried  Robin,  in  such  a  miserable 
voice  that  Beryl  gave  her  a  little  shake. 

Beryl  saw  in  the  visit  all  kinds  of  adventure. 
First,  Robin  must  keep  her  eyes  open  and  determine 
whether  Miss  Alicia  Granger  still  mourned  for  young 
Christopher  or  whether  she  was  faithless  to  his 
memory.  Then  there'd  be  the  young  people,  prob- 
ably from  New  York,  with  all  kinds  of  new  clothes 
and  new  slang  and  new  stories  of  that  happy  whirl 


268  RED-ROBIN 

in  which  Beryl  fancied  all  young  people  of  wealth 
lived.  And  then  there  was  the  son,  Tom.  And 
Robin  could  wear  the  white  and  silver  georgette  dress. 

"I  wish  it  were  you  going  instead  of  me,"  Robin 
mourned,  not  at  all  encouraged  by  Beryl's  enthusiasm. 
"You're  so  tall  and  pretty,  Beryl,  and  can  always 
think  of  things  to  say." 

There  shone,  however,  one  bright  ray  in  all  the 
gloom — the  Granger  home,  Harkness  had  said,  was 
only  a  mile  from  the  Granger  Mills.  Adam  Kraus 
and  Dale  had  spoken  of  the  Granger  Mills  as  though 
they  were  almost  perfect.  She  wanted  to  see  them, 
at  least,  on  the  outside. 

With  a  heart  so  heavy  that  she  scarcely  noticed 
the  sheen  of  soft  green  with  which  the  early  spring 
had  dressed  the  hills,  Robin  arrived  at  Wyckham, 
the  Granger  home,  at  tea  time.  She  was  only  con- 
scious of  a  wide,  low  door,  level  with  the  bricked 
terrace,  flanked  by  stone  seats ;  that  this  door  opened 
and  revealed  a  circle  of  merry-voiced  young  people 
gathered  around  a  great  fireplace.  As  the  impressive 
under-butler  took  her  bags  from  Williams  one  of 
the  group  rose  quickly  and  came  toward  her.  She 
was  very  tall  and  slender  with  an  oval-shaped  face  and 
a  prominent  nose  like  Mrs.  Granger's.  Robin  knew 
she  was  Miss  Alicia.  She  answered  something  un- 
intelligible to  Miss  Alicia's  informal  greeting  and 
let  herself  be  drawn  into  the  circle. 

There  were  four  girls,  ranging  in  age  anywhere 


AT  THE  GRANGER  MILLS          269 

from  sixteen  to  twenty — three  very  pretty,  obviously 
conscious  of  their  modish  garments  and  wanting 
everyone  else  to  be  conscious  of  them,  too;  another, 
Rosalyn  Crane,  tall  and  tanned  and  strong  in  limb 
and  shoulder,  with  frank  dark  eyes  and  red  lips  which 
smiled  and  displayed  regular,  gleaming-white  teeth. 
Robin  liked  her  best,  and  Rosalyn  Crane  felt  this  and 
promptly  tucked  Robin  under  her  wing. 

For  the  next  several  hours  life  moved  forward 
for  Robin  at  such  a  dizzying  pace  that  she  felt  as 
though  she  were  sitting  apart  from  her  body  and 
watching  her  flesh-and-bones  do  things  they  had 
never  dreamed  of  doing  before;  the  noisy  tea-circle, 
the  room  she  shared  with  the  nice  girl,  the  casual 
welcome  from  Mrs.  Granger,  the  georgette  and  silver 
dress  and  the  silver  slippers  that  matched,  the  beauti- 
ful drawing  room  so  alive  with  color  and  jollity,  the 
long  table  gleaming  with  crystal  and  silver,  the  voices, 
voices,  (everyone's  but  hers)  the  bare  shoulders  and 
the  bright  eyes  and  the  red,  red  cheeks,  the  Japanese 
servants,  velvet- footed,  the  big,  hot-house  straw- 
berries, music  and  dancing,  (everyone  dancing  but 
her)  and  then,  at  last,  bed. 

Out  of  the  whirl  stood  two  pleasant  moments: 
one  when  Mr.  Granger  had  spoken  to  her,  the 
other — Tom. 

Mr.  Granger  had  a  kind  face,  all  criss-crossed 
with  fine  lines  that  curved  up  when  he  smiled.  He 
patted  her  on  the  shoulder  and  said:  "A  Forsyth 


270  RED-ROBIN 

girl,  eh?"  and  made  Robin  feel  that  he  liked  her. 
And  she  was  not  afraid  of  him  and  answered  easily 
and  not  in  the  tongue-tied  way  she  spoke  to  Miss 
Alicia  and  her  friends. 

And  Tom  Granger  looked  like  his  father.  He 
had  a  jolly  way  of  talking,  too,  and  talked  mostly 
to  Rosalyn  Crane.  He  had  sat  between  her  and 
Robin  at  dinner  and  had  made  Robin  feel  quite 
comfortable  by  acting  as  though  they  were  old  ac- 
quaintances and  did  not  need  to  keep  up  a  fire  of 
banter  like  the  others. 

The  next  morning  Robin  came  downstairs  to 
find  the  house  deserted  except  for  the  noiseless  butlers 
who  stared  at  her  as  though  she  were  some  strange 
freak.  Apparently  no  one  stirred  before  noon,  for 
Tom,  coming  in  from  the  garage,  greeted  her  with 
a  pleasant :  "Say,  you're  an  early  bird,  aren't  you?" 
and  then  directed  one  of  the  butlers  to  bring  her 
some  breakfast  in  the  sun-room. 

"You've  got  some  sense.  Al's  crowd  will  miss 
half  of  this  glorious  day!"  he  commented,  leading 
Robin  into  a  glass-enclosed  room,  in  the  centre  of 
which  splashed  a  jolly  fountain. 

Tom  sat  with  her  while  she  ate  the  breakfast 
the  Jap  brought  on  a  lacquered  tray.  He  kept  up 
a  fire  of  breezy  talk  just  as  though  she  were  the  nice 
Rosalyn  Crane.  It  was  mostly  about  the  baseball 
nine  at  Hotchkiss,  of  which  he  was  manager,  and 
the  new  golf  holes  and  an  inter-school  swimming 


AT  THE  GRANGER  MILLS          271 

match  and  such  things,  concerning  which  poor  Robin 
knew  nothing,  but  he  was  so  boyish  and  jolly  that 
Robin  did  not  feel  in  the  least  shy  or  awkward. 

"Say,  don't  you  want  to  go  with  me  while  I  try 
out  my  new  car?  The  road  toward  Cornwall  is 
good  and  I've  bet  that  I  can  get  her  up  to  sixty. 
Great  morning,  too.  Are  you  game?" 

Robin  felt  game  for  anything  that  would  take  her 
away  from  Miss  Alicia's  friends — except  Rosalyn. 
Tom  took  her  back  to  the  garage  and  tucked  her 
into  half  of  the  low  seat  and  climbed  in  beside  her. 

For  the  next  two  hours  they  tore  back  and  forth 
over  the  Cornwall  road  at  a  pace  that  caught  Robin's 
breath  in  her  throat.  Occasionally  Tom  talked,  but 
most  of  the  time  he  bent  over  the  wheel,  his  eyes 
on  the  road  ahead  with  a  frenzied  challenge  in  them, 
as  though  the  innocent  stretch  of  macadam  was  prey 
for  his  vengeance. 

Just  outside  of  the  town  he  slowed  the  car  down 
to  a  snail's  pace. 

"Some  baby,  isn't  she?"  he  asked  and  at  Robin's 
perplexed  eyes  he  went  off  into  rollicking  laughter. 
"Why  she  eats  the  road!  Dad  said  I  couldn't  get 
it  out  of  her.  I'll  tell  the  world.  Whew !" 

Robin  sat  forward,  suddenly  alert. 

"Are  those  the  Mills?" 

"Yep." 

They  were  not  so  very  unlike  the  Forsyth  Mills — 
brick  walls,  dust,  dirt,  smoke,  towering  chimneys. 


272  RED-ROBIN 

and  noise,  noise.  But  beyond  them  and  the  river 
were  rows  of  neat  little  white  cottages,  each  with  a 
yard,  already  green. 

"Best  mills  in  New  England.  But  Dad's  prouder 
of  his  model  village — as  Mother  calls  those  cottages 
over  there — than  of  his  profit  sheet.  And  look  at 
the  school — Dad  wanted  a  school  good  enough  for 
his  own  son  and  daughter,  but  Mother  wouldn't  let 
us  go.  I  wish  she  had — I'll  bet  there's  enough  good 
batting  material  right  in  this  town  to  whip  every 
nine  in  this  part  of  the  country.  There's  Dad's 
library,  too — " 

But  Robin  did  not  heed  the  direction  of  his  nod. 
She  had  suddenly  seen  something  that  made  her  heart 
leap  into  her  throat;  Adam  Kraus  walking  into  the 
office  building  carrying  the  square  box  with  the 
leather  handles,  which  she  knew  contained  Dale's 
model.  He  was  taking  it  to  Mr.  Granger. 

A  panic  gripped  Robin.  She  must  do  something 
to  save  that  model  for  the  Forsyth  Mills — she  did 
not  know  just  what,  but  something — 

"Stop,  oh,  stop.  Couldn't  I  see  your — father? 
I'd  like  to." 

Tom  looked  puzzled,  but  good-naturedly  turned 
the  car.  Robin  climbed  out  with  amazing  speed. 

"Take  me  to  his  office,  oh,  please  take  me,"  she 
begged,  with  such  earnestness  that  Tom  wondered  if 
she'd  gone  "clean  dotty." 

Inside  the  office  building  there  was  no  sign  of 


AT  THE  GRANGER  MILLS          273 

Adam  Kraus,  for  the  reason,  though  Robin  did  not 
know  it,  that  it  was  his  second  visit;  he  was  there 
by  appointment,  and  he  had  used  a  stairway  that 
led  directly  to  Mr.  Granger's  office,  while  Tom  took 
Robin  through  the  main  office  where  a  neatly  dressed 
girl  blocked  their  way. 

Mr.  Granger  was  busy  but  the  young  lady  could 
wait,  this  efficient  young  person  informed  them,  quite 
indifferent  to  the  fact  that  she  addressed  Thomas 
Granger  and  Gordon  Forsyth.  And  Robin  walked 
into  an  enclosure,  half  consulting  room,  half  waiting 
room,  and  sat  down  with  fast  beating  heart,  upon 
.a  leather  and  mahogany  chair. 

"I'll  wait  out  here  'til  you  see  Dad,"  Tom  told 
her,  to  her  relief,  and  she  heard  him  telling  one  of 
the  clerks  how  his  "baby"  could  make  sixty  as  easy — 

Suddenly  Robin  took  in  other  voices,  one  deep, 
one  soft  and  drawling.  A  door  at  the  end  of  the 
room  stood  half -open.  She  leaned  toward  it, 
alertly  listening. 

"And  you  say  this  invention  is  your  own,  Kraus  ? 
Have  you  your  patents?" 

"My  applications  have  all  gone  in  and  I  have 
some  of  the  patents.  Yes,  sir,  it's  my  own." 

"Doran  reported  very  favorably.  With  one  or 
two  changes — suppose  we  find  Doran,  now."  There 
came  the  sound  of  a  chair  scraping  backward.  "Oh, 
the  model  will  be  quite  safe  here.  I  want  Doran 
to  point  out  one  or  two  things  on  our  new  loom.  It 

18 


274  RED-ROBIN 

will  only  take  a  moment.  Then  we'll  bring  him 
back  here." 

Oh,  would  they  come  out  through  the  waiting- 
room — thought  Robin,  shrinking  back.  And  what 
had  Adam  Kraus  said? 

But  Mr.  Granger  had  opened  another  door — 
Robin  heard  it  close.  She  stepped  noiselessly  toward 
that  half-open  door  at  the  end  of  the  room.  Her 
head  was  clear,  her  heart  atingle. 

He,  Adam  Kraus,  had  dared  to  say  the  invention 
was  his!  The  wicked  man,  the  traitor — to  betray 
Dale's  trust,  his  friendship! 

The  office  was  quite  empty.  And  on  the  big 
desk,  amid  a  litter  of  papers  and  letters  and  books 
and  ledgers,  stood  the  little  model  in  its  clumsy  box. 

Robin  caught  it  up  and  held  it  close  to  her,  defi- 
antly. She  snatched  a  pencil  and  scrawled  a  few 
lines  on  the  back  of  an  envelope,  then  she  tiptoed 
out  into  the  consulting  office  and  on  through  the 
main  office.  Tom  was  waiting  at  the  end  of  the 
room.  It  seemed  to  Robin  as  though  hundreds  of 
eyes  accused  her;  in  reality  only  a  few  lifted  from 
the  work  of  the  day  to  stare  at  the  young  girl  Tom 
Granger  had  brought  to  see  his  father.  And  if 
anyone  wondered  why  she  carried  the  queer  box, 
no  one  of  them  was  likely  to  presume  to  question 
any  friend  of  the  Grangers. 

"Did  y'see  Dad?"     But  Tom,  to  Robin's  relief, 


AT  THE  GRANGER  MILLS          275 

took  that  for  granted  and  turned  back  to  his  acquaint- 
ance among  the  clerks. 

"I'll  take  you  out  with  me  and  prove  it  to  you!" 

Robin  wanted  to  beg  Tom  to  run  but  she  did 
not  dare.  He  asked  to  carry  the  box  and  she  let 
him,  for  fear,  if  she  refused,  he  might  suspect  some- 
thing. Queer  shivers  raced  up  and  down  her  spine 
and  a  dreadful  sinking  feeling  attacked  her  heart 
and  dragged  at  her  throat  so  that  she  could 
scarcely  speak. 

He  helped  her  into  the  car  and  climbed  in  himself. 
He  leisurely  experimented  with  the  gears,  until  Robin 
almost  screamed  in  her  anxiety.  Then  just  as  he 
started  the  motor,  a  shout  hailed  them  from  the  office 
door,  and  both  turned  to  see  Adam  Kraus  tearing 
down  the  steps  bareheaded,  wildly  waving  his  arms, 
followed  by  a  half-dozen  clerks  and  Mr.  Granger, 
himself. 

"Go!  Go!"  implored  Robin,  catching  his  arm, 
and  so  frightened  rang  her  voice  that  Tom  instinct- 
ively obeyed  and  stepped  on  the  accelerator  with  such 
force  that  the  car  shot  forward.  "Oh,  faster! 
Faster!"  she  sobbed.  "He's  coming"  A  backward 
glance  had  told  her  that  Adam  Kraus  intended  to 
give  chase;  still  bareheaded,  he  had  jumped  into  a 
Ford  standing  in  the  road. 

"Well,  I  don't  know  what  we're  running  away 
from,  but  my  baby  can  give  anything  on  wheels  a 
good  go-by!"  laughed  Tom,  his  eyes  keen.  He 


276  RED-ROBIN 

leaned  over  the  wheel,  his  face  fixed  on  the  road 
with  its  "eat-her-up"  tensity. 

They  turned  into  the  Cornwall  road.  At  a  rise 
Robin  saw  the  other  car  with  its  bareheaded  driver 
tearing  after  them. 

"Oh,  he's  coming,"  she  moaned,  sinking  down 
mto  the  seat. 

"Say,  Miss  Forsyth I'm  keen on 

running away — but  what — the — deuce — from  ? 

Who's  that fellow following1 — us why 

are  you afraid?"  He  flung  the  words  jerkily, 

sideways,  at  Robin. 

"I'll  tell  you — afterwards,"  Robin  gasped  back. 
The  wind  whistled  past  her,  she  lost  her  hat.  She 
crouched  in  her  seat,  her  hands  clinging  tightly  to 
the  box,  her  head  turned  as  though  expecting  their 
pursuer  to  overtake  them  any  moment. 

Suddenly  Tom  frowned.  At  the  same  time  the 
engine  gave  a  grating  "b-r-r-r." 

"Oh,  what  is  it?" 

"Oil's  getting  low Bad "  she  caught  in 

answer.  "Pulling  some I'll fool  him, 

though — "  He  slowed  down. 

"Don't—"   implored  Robin. 

"We'll  turn  down  this  road.  He'll  go  straight 
on.  Clever,  eh  ?  Say,  I  wouldn't  have  guessed  you 
had  all  this  spunk  in  you !"  he  took  the  time  to  say, 
casting  her  an  admiring  glance. 


AT  THE  GRANGER  MILLS          277 

He  made  the  turn  and  the  "baby"  ploughed 
through  the  soft  rough  road  at  a  perilous  clip.  The 
road  wound  through  thickly  wooded  hills,  up  and 
down,  apparently  leading  to  nowhere. 

Suddenly  it  twisted  up  a  long  hill.  Tom's  car 
climbed  easily,  slackening  its  speed  for  a  few  mo- 
ments at  the  top.  Turning,  Robin  could  make  out 
the  course  over  which  they  had  come  and,  to  her 
horror,  the  little  car  plunging  over  it. 

"Look — look!"  she  cried. 

"Well,  I'll  be— blowed!"  Tom  Granger  stared 
as  though  he  could  not  believe  his  eyes.  "He  saw 
the  marks  of  my  new  tires,  I  guess.  He's  a  sharp 
one.  Cheer  up — we're  not  caught  yet."  He  in- 
creased the  speed;  they  tore  down  the  slope  in 
breakneck  haste. 

But,  in  the  hollow,  the  car  slopped  out  of  the 
muddy  ruts,  gave  a  sickening  lurch  sidewise  and 
dropped  with  a  jolt  into  mud  to  the  axles. 

His  face  white  with  excitement  Tom  Granger 
tore  at  the  gears,  tried  to  go  back,  to  go  forward, 
but  in  vain.  And,  presently,  they  both  heard  the 
distant  throb  of  a  motor. 

Robin  jumped  down  from  the  car,  hugging  her 
box.  "I'll  run.  Good-bye,  Tom,  thank  you  so 
much!"  She  was  far  too  excited  to  realize  the 
familiar  way  in  which  she  had  addressed  him.  She 
had  cleared  the  ditch  and  stood  on  the  fringe  of  the 
deep  woods. 


278  RED-ROBIN 

"I'll  tell  you  sometime — about  it!"  she  flung  to 
him.  "I'm — not — stealing!  That  man — will 
know — "  and  she  disappeared  among  the  leafing 
undergrowth. 

"Well,  I'll— be— -  Oh,  I  say,  Miss  Forsyth, 
don't — "  But  the  boy's  attention,  quite  naturally, 
turned  to  meet  the  enemy,  who  at  that  moment  ap- 
peared over  the  crest  of  the  hill. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

THE  GREEN  BEADS 

BERYL  waved  Robin  off  to  the  Granger's  with 
a  forced  cheerfulness.  Left  alone,  she  sat  in  the 
room  she  shared  with  Robin  and  stared  unhappily 
at  the  disarray  left  from  the  frenzied  packing 
and  unpacking. 

Nothing  exciting  like  going  off  to  a  house-party 
of  young  people  with  two  bags  full  of  lovely  clothes 
would  ever,  ever  happen  to  her! 

In  fact  nothing  exciting  would  ever  happen. 
She'd  just  go  on  and  on  wanting  things  all  her  life. 

She  did  not  envy  Robin,  for  Robin  was  such  a 
dear  no  one  could  ever  envy  her,  but  she  wished 
she  could  have  just  some  of  the  chances  Robin  had — 
and  did  not  appreciate.  She  straightened.  Oh,  with 
just  one  of  Robin's  dresses,  couldn't  she  sail  into 
that  drawing  room  at  Wyckham  and  hold  her  own 
with  the  proudest  of  them?  Mrs.  Granger  and  the 
haughty  Alicia  had  no  terrors  for  her,  and  if  they 
tried  to  snub  her,  she'd  put  her  violin  under  her  chin 
and  then — 

The  peal  of  the  doorbell  reverberated  through  the 
quiet  house.  Beryl  heard  Harkness'  slow  step,  as 
he  went  to  the  door ;  then  it  climbed  the  stairs  and 
stopped  outside  of  Robin's  room. 

"Miss  Beryl — a  telegram." 

279 


280  RED-ROBIN 

"For  me?"  Beryl  drew  back.  She  had  never 
received  a  telegram  in  her  life  and  the  yellow  envelope 
frightened  her. 

"The  boy  said  as  to  sign  here." 

Beryl  wrote  her  name  mechanically  in  letters  that 
zigzagged  crazily.  Harkness  lingered  while  she  tore 
open  the  envelope,  concern  struggling  with  curiosity 
on  his  face. 

"It's  from  Robin's  guardian.  He — he  wants — 
oh,  Harkness,  am  I  reading  right?  He  says  I  must 
come  to  New  York  at  once — tonight,  if  I  can.  He'll 
meet  me — it's  extremely  important.  Why,  Harkness, 
what  in  the  world  has  happened?  It  doesn't  sound 
awful,  does  it?  Did  you  ever  know  of  anything  so 
mysterious  in  your  life?" 

Harkness  never  had.  He  read  the  telegram  with 
brows  drawn  together. 

"Mebbe  they  left  out  something,"  he  suggested, 
turning  the  sheet  and  scrutinizing  its  back. 

"Well,  I'll  have  to  go."  Beryl's  voice  betrayed 
her  deep  excitement.  "I  can  catch  the  evening  train. 
Oh,  Harkness,  how  often  I've  watched  that  go  out 
and  wished  I  was  on  it !  And  now  I'm  going  to  be. 
I'm  going  to  New  York!  Harkness,  be  a  dear  and 
hurry  some  dinner,  will  you?  I'll  pack.  And  oh, 
will  you  take  a  note  to  mother  for  me  ?  I'll  not  have 
time  to  stop.  Or  wait — I  won't  tell  her  I'm  going 
until  I  know  what  it's  for — she'd  worry.  Isn't 
that  best?" 


THE  GREEN  BEADS  281 

"Yes,  that's  best.  I'll  get  you  some  nice  dinner, 
don't  you  fret.  And  Joe '11  take  you  down  to  the 
station  in  the  truck,  he  will,  for  like  as  not  he'll  be 
meetin'  the  train  anyways  for  his  wife's  niece  who 
lives  Boston  way.  She's  a-goin'  to  help  Joe's  wife — " 

"Oh,  that'll  be  nice.  But  please  hurry,  Harkness. 
That  boy's  waiting  for  his  book.  And  I  can't  think." 

Two  hours  later  Beryl  sat  upright  on  the  plush 
seat  of  the  evening  train,  her  old  suitcase  at  her 
feet  packed  with  every  garment  she  possessed. 

"This  is  more  fun  than  all  your  old  house-parties," 
she  apostrophized  the  black  square  of  window,  which 
dimly  reflected  her  glowing  face.  Then  she  lost  her- 
self in  a  delicious  "I  wonder"  as  to  why  she  had  been 
summoned  so  mysteriously  to  New  York. 

Cornelius  Allendyce  and  Miss  Effie  met  her  at 
the  end  of  her  wonderful  journey,  no  part  of  which 
had  wearied  her  in  the  least,  and  their  smiling  faces 
put  at  rest  the  tiny  misgiving  that  had  persisted 
that  she  might  be  walking  into  some  sort  of  a  scheme 
to  separate  her  from  Robin. 

"I  am  glad  you  got  my  telegram  in  time  to  catch 
tonight's  train.  I've  made  an  important  appointment 
for  you  to-morrow  morning  with  a  friend  of  mine." 
But  not  another  word  concerning  the  mystery  would 
the  lawyer  say.  Both  he  and  his  sister  went  about 
with  a  queer  smile,  and  treated  Beryl  as  fond  (and 
rich)  parents  might  a  good  child  on  Christmas  Eve. 

The  next  morning  Miss  Effie  started  the  two  of 


282  RED-ROBIN 

them  off  for  the  "appointment"  with  a  fluttery  excite- 
ment bordering  on  hysteria. 

"You'll  think,  my  dear,  you've  rubbed  Aladdin's 
lamp/'  she  whispered  to  Beryl,  patting  down  the  neat 
white  collar  of  Beryl's  coat. 

Beryl  thought  of  her  words  when  she  followed 
Mr.  Allendyce  through  a  long  dim  room,  crowded 
with  treasures  of  fabric  and  ceramic,  rich  in  coloring, 
fragrant  of  oriental  perfumes. 

"He's  a  collector,"  Cornelius  Allendyce  explained, 
nodding  sideways  and  hurrying  on  to  a  room  in  the 
back,  as  though  their  errand  had  nothing  to  do  with 
the  curious  things  about  them. 

"Ah,  there,  Eugene,  we're  here!  Miss  Lynch, 
this  is  Eugene  Dominez,  known  to  two  continents  as 
that  rare  specimen,  an  honest  collector;  to  me,  the 
only  man  I  can't  beat  at  chess!" 

A  very  small  man  rose  from  a  great  carved  chair. 
He  had  a  thin,  leathery  face  with  an  exaggerated 
nose,  stretched  out  as  though  from  sniffing  for  curios 
in  dusty  dim  corners.  When  he  smiled  his  eyes  shut 
and  his  mouth  twisted  until  he  looked  like  a  jolly 
little  gnome. 

"Ah-ha !  You  admit  you  cannot  beat  me !"  He 
spoke  with  a  soft  accent.  "And  this  is  the  little 
lady  who  owns  the  green  beads."  And  he  peered 
closely  at  Beryl. 

The  green  beads!  She  had  not  thought  of 
them  once. 


THE  GREEN  BEADS  283 

"Sit  down.  Sit  down.  I  will  ask  you  to  tell 
me  a  story.  Then  I  will  tell  you  a  story.  First, 
my  dear  young  lady,  tell  me  where  you  found  the 
beads?"  As  he  spoke,  he  drew  open  a  drawer,  and 
took  from  it  the  envelope  Robin  had  given  to 
her  guardian. 

Beryl  answered  briefly,  for  the  simple  reason  that 
she  found  difficulty  managing  her  tongue. 

"An — an  old  priest — back  in  Ireland — gave  them 
— to  us.  He'd  found  them  in  an  antique  shop  in 
London." 

"Ah,  so!  Just  so!  So!  So!"  crowed  the  gnome- 
like  man,  jumping  up  and  down  in  his  great  chair. 
"Now  I  will  tell  you  a  story." 

"Once  upon  a  time,  as  you  say,  a  beautiful  Queen 
of  the  fifteenth  century,  while  travelling  through  a 
forest,  came  upon  a  roving  band  of  gypsies.  So 
great  was  her  beauty  that  the  gypsy  chief  gave  to  her 
a  necklace  of  precious  jade,  upon  each  bead  of  which 
had  been  tooled  a  crown,  so  infinitesimal  as  to  be  seen 
only  through  a  strong  lens.  The  chief  told  the  fair 
Queen  that  the  necklace  brought  good  fortune  to 
whosoever  possessed  it.  But  so  proud  was  the  young 
Queen  of  the  precious  beads  and  the  good  fortune 
that  was  to  be  hers  that  she  boasted  of  them  to  her 
Court  and  aroused  the  envy  of  many  until  a  knave 
among  her  courtiers  stole  them  from  her.  For  gen- 
erations these  beads,  the  workmanship  of  a  Magyar 
artisan,  have  passed  from  owner  to  owner,  always 


284  RED-ROBIN 

mysteriously,  for,  because  of  the  good  fortune  they 
had  power  to  bestow,  no  one  parted  with  them  ex- 
cept from  the  most  dire  necessity,  and  only  lost  them 
through  theft.  Ah,"  he  held  up  one  of  the  glowing 
green  globes,  "the  stories  they  could  tell  of  greed 
and  dishonor  and  cunning !  The  lies  that  have  been 
told  for  them!  And  an  old  priest  found  them  a* 
last!  It  is  many  years  since  there  has  been  any 
trace."  He  stared  at  Beryl  as  though  to  see  through 
her  into  the  past.  Then  he  roused  quickly  and  shook 
his  shoulders.  "They  have  hung  about  the  necks  of 
crowned  people,  good  people — and  wicked  people. 
Perhaps  they  have  brought  good  fortune — as  the 
Magyar  chieftain  said  they  would.  Who  knows? 
You,  my  dear — you  are  a  girl  with  a  sensible  head 
on  a  pair  of  straight  shoulders — tell  me,  do  you  care 
more  for  the  superstition  of  this  necklace — than  for 
the  money  I  will  pay  you  for  it — say,  fifteen  thous- 
and dollars?" 

Beryl  stood  up  so  suddenly  that  her  chair  tumbled 
backward,  making  a  crashing  noise  in  the  subdued 
stillness  of  the  little  room. 

"Are  you  joking?"  she  asked  in  a  queer,  choky 
voice. 

"No,  he  is  not  joking.  And  I  told  you  he  is 
known  the  world  over  as  an  honest  collector,"  broke 
in  Cornelius  Allendyce. 

"Fifteen — thousand — dollars!  Why,  that's  aa 
awfully  big  amount,  isn't  it?"  Beryl  appealed 


THE  GREEN  BEADS  285 

helplessly  to  the  lawyer.  "Why — of  course  I'll  sell 
it — if  you're  sure  it's  what  you  think  it  is.  I — I 
don't  want — " 

The  little  collector  handed  her  one  of  the  beads 
and  a  strong  magnifying  glass.  "Look!"  he  com- 
manded. Beryl  obeyed.  There,  quite  plainly,  she 
made  out  a  tiny  crown. 

She  laughed  hysterically.  "I  see  it !  I  thought 
that  was  a  scratch.  I  never  noticed  it  was  on  every 
one.  Oh,  how  queer !  A  queen  wore  these !"  She 
rolled  the  bead  slowly  in  the  palm  of  her  hand.  Then 
she  handed  it  back.  "But  I'd  much  rather  have  the 
money  than  the  beads  even  if  a  dozen  queens  wore 
them."  Her  sound  practicalness  rang  harshly  in  the 
exotic  atmosphere  of  the  room. 

"I  explained  to  Mr.  Dominez  your  situation — and 
your  ambition,"  Cornelius  Allendyce  put  in  almost 
apologetically. 

"Mr.  Allendyce  will  represent  you  in  this  deal, 
Miss  Lynch,  if  you  care  to  think  the  sale  over. 
However,  I  am  giving  you  a  final  offer.  You 
are  young  and — " 

Beryl  reached  out  both  hands  with  childish  im- 
pulsiveness. "Oh,  I  want  the  money  now!  I  want 
to  spend  it.  I  want — oh,  you  don't  know  all  I 
want — "  She  stopped  abruptly,  confused  by  the 
smiles  on  both  men's  faces 

"Mr.  Dominez  will  give  you  a  partial  payment 
in  cash  and  the  rest  I  will  deposit  in  the  bank  to 


286  RED-ROBIN 

your  credit,"  explained  Cornelius  Allendyce.  "You 
need  not  feel  ashamed  of  your  excitement,  my  dear ; 
fortune  like  this  does  not  come  often  to  anyone. 
It's  hard,  indeed,  not  to  believe  that  the  little  beads 
have  magic." 

"I'm  dreaming.  I'm  just  plain  dreaming  and  I'll 
wake  up  in  a  minute  and  find  I'm  Beryl  Lynch, 
poor  as  ever!"  Beryl  whispered  to  herself  as  she 
followed  Robin's  guardian  out  into  the  sunshine  of 
the  street.  She  felt  of  her  bulging  pocketbook,  into 
which  she  had  put  the  roll  of  bills  the  little  collector 
had  smilingly  given  her,  and  which  Robin's  guardian 
had  counted  over,  quite  seriously.  It  felt  real  but 
it  just  couldn't  be  true — 

"Now  where,  my  dear  ?  You  ought  to  make  this 
day  one  you'll  never  forget." 

"Don't  I  have  to  go  right  back  to  Wassumsic? 
Oh,  then — then — can  I  go  to  see  Jacques  Henri  and 
tell  him?  I  know  the  way — I  can  take  the  Ninth 
Avenue  Elevated — or —  Would  it  be  very  foolish  if 
I  took  a  taxi  ?"  Beryl  colored  furiously. 

"Not  at  all,  Miss  Beryl,  not  at  all.  Take  the 
taxi  and  keep  it  there  to  return  to  my  house;  then 
you  and  Miss  Effie  put  your  heads  together  and  decide 
just  what  you  want  to  do  first  with  your  money." 

Beryl  rejoiced  that  it  was  a  nice  shiny  taxi,  quite 
like  a  real  lady's  car.  She  sniffed  delightedly  the 
leathery  smell,  sat  bolt  upright  with  her  chin  in 
the  air. 


THE  GREEN  BEADS  287 

"Go  straight  down  Fifth  Avenue,"  she  instructed 
the  driver. 

Spring,  with  its  eternal  sorcery,  caressed  the  great 
city.  Its  spell  threw  a  sheen  over  the  drab  things 
Beryl  remembered  so  well,  the  brick  schoolhouse, 
the  Settlement,  the  dirty  narrow  street  flanked  by 
dull-brown  tenements  with  their  endless  fire  escapes 
mounting  higher  and  higher,  hung  now  with  bedding 
of  every  color.  The  street  swarmed  with  children 
returning  from  school,  and  they  gathered  about  the 
automobile  climbing  on  to  the  running  board  on 
either  side  and  peering  through  the  windows. 

"It's  the  Lynch  girl,"  someone  cried  and  another 
answered  jeeringly. 

"Aw,  git  off!  Wot  she  doin'  in  this  swell 
autymobile?" 

Beryl  did  not  mind  in  the  least  the  street  urchins ; 
even  though  she  had  lived  among  them,  neither  she 
nor  Dale  had  ever  been  of  them,  thanks  to  her 
mother's  watchful  care.  She  smiled  at  them  and 
fled  into  the  dark  alley  way  that  led  to  the  court 
which,  all  through  her  childhood,  had  been  her 
play-ground. 

As  she  climbed,  a  dreadful  thought  appalled  her. 
What  if  dear  old  Jacques  Henri  had  moved  away — 
or  died!  But,  no,  at  the  very  moment  she  let  the 
fear  halt  her  climbing  step  she  heard  the  dear  sound 
of  his  violin.  She  crept  to  his  door  and  softly 
opened  it. 


288  RED-ROBIN 

The  old  man  stood  near  his  window,  through 
which  he  could  see  a  slit  of  blue  sky  between  two 
walls.  On  the  sill  were  the  pink  geraniums  he 
nursed  through  winter  and  summer,  their  pinkness 
brightening  the  gloom  of  the  bare,  dim  room. 
Jacques  Henri  called  them  his  family. 

"Jacques  Henri!"  Beryl  ran  to  him  and  threw 
her  strong  arms  about  him. 

"Hold!  Let  me  look.  My  girl?  Ah,  do  my 
old  eyes  tell  me  false  things?  No,  it's  my 
little  Beryl!" 

Beryl  took  his  violin  from  him,  kissed  its  strings 
lightly  and  laid  it  carefully  upon  the  table.  Then  she 
pushed  the  startled  old  man  back  into  the  one  com- 
fortable chair  and  perched  herself  upon  its  arm. 

"Listen,  dear  Jacques  Henri,  and  I'll  tell  you  the 
strangest  story  that  you  ever  heard — about  Queens 
and  gypsies  and  green  beads  and  a  girl  you  know. 
Don't  say  one  word  until  I'm  through."  And  Bery! 
told  in  all  its  wonderful  detail,  the  happenings  of 
the  morning. 

"And  don't  you  see  what  it  means?  I  can  begin 
to  study  at  once!  Right  this  minute !  And,  oh,  how 
I'll  work  and  practice  and  learn  until — " 

She  caught  up  the  old  man's  violin  and  its  bow 
and  drew  it  across  the  strings. 

"Play!"  commanded  Jacques  Henri,  without  so 
much  as  a  word  for  the  Aladdin-lamp  tale  she  bad 
told  him. 


THE  GREEN  BEADS  289 

Beryl  played  and  as  she  played  she  wished  with 
all  her  might  she  could  summon  the  power  that  had 
been  hers  on  Christmas  night.  She  wanted  to  play 
for  Jacques  Henri  as  she  had  played  then.  But  she 
could  not. 

"Stop!" 

Beryl  laid  the  violin  down. 

The  old  man  scowled  at  her  until  she  shifted  ner-' 
vously  under  his  searching  eyes. 

"Your  fingers — they  are  clever,  your  ear  is  true — 
but  there  is  nothing — of  you — in  what  you  play! 
Do  you  know  what  I  mean?" 

He  did  not  wait  for  Beryl  to  answer ;  he  went  on, 
with  a  shake  of  his  great  head  and  his  eyes  still 
fixed  upon  her. 

"You  come  to  me  and  tell  me  your  good  fortune 
and  what  you  will  do;  how  you  can  study  and  you 
can  work  and  you  can  learn  to  make  good  music—.- 
and  you  have  no  word  for  what  that  money  will  mean 
to  your  saint  of  a  mother — aye,  the  best  woman  God 
ever  made!  Shame  to  you,  selfish  girl,  that  you 
should  put  your  ambition  before  her  dreams!" 

The  color  dyed  Beryl's  face.  "I  never  thought — " 
she  muttered,  then  stopped  abruptly,  ashamed  of 
her  own  admission. 

"No,  you  never  thought!  Do  you  ever  think 
much  beyond  yourself?"  Then,  afraid  that  he  had 
spoken  too  harshly,  he  laid  his  hand  affectionately 
upon  Beryl's  shoulder.  "But  you  are  young,  my 

19 


290  RED-ROBIN 

dear,  and  youth  is  careless.  Jacques  Henri  knows 
that  there  is  good  in  you — my  eyes  are  wise  and  I 
can  see  into  your  heart.  It  is  an  honest  little  heart — 
you  will  heed  in  time.  Ambition  is  a  greedy  thing 
— watch  out  that  you  keep  it  in  your  clever  head  and 
do  not  let  it  wrap  its  hard  sinews  about  your  heart, 
crushing  all  that  is  beautiful  there.  Listen  to  me, 
child ;  think  you  that  your  music  can  reach  into  the 
souls  of  people  if  you  do  not  feel  that  music  in  ycur 
own  good  soul?  Your  fingers  may  be  clever  and 
your  body  strong,  but  your  music  will  be  cold,  cold, 
if  the  heart  inside  you  is  a  little,  cold,  mean  thing! 
Many's  the  one,  I  grant  you,  content  to  feed  the  pass- 
ing plaudits  of  the  crowd,  but  not  the  master — he 
must  go  further,  he  must  give  of  himself  to  all 
that  they  may  carry  something  beautiful  of  his  gift 
away  in  their  hearts.  That  is  the  master.  That 
is  music." 

Beryl,  always  so  ready  in  self-defense,  stood  mute 
before  the  old  man's  charge.  She  had  been  scolded 
too  often  by  this  dear  recluse  to  resent  it;  she  had, 
too,  faith  in  anything  he  might  say. 

Then:  "You  just  ought  to  know  Robin,"  she 
burst  out,  irrelevantly,  eager  that  her  old  teacher 
should  believe  that,  even  though  she  might  be  a  selfish, 
thoughtless  girl  herself,  she  could  recognize  and  res- 
pect the  good  qualities  in  others. 

"Forgive  your  old  friend  if  he  has  hurt  you. 
Go  now  to  your  blessed  mother  and  lay  your  good 
fortune  at  her  feet.  That  I  might  see  her  face !" 


THE  GREEN  BEADS  291 

"And  if  she  wants  to  use — some  of  the  money, 
will  you  help  me?"  asked  Beryl,  in  a  meek  voice. 

"Ah,  most  surely.     And  proudly." 

Beryl  rode  back  to  Miss  Effie's  in  a  contritely 
humble  mood. 

"I  wish  there  were  some  sort  of  medicine  one 
could  take  to  make  them  better  inside  their  hearts! 
I  wouldn't  care  how  nasty  it  tasted,"  she  mourned, 
impatient  at  the  long,  hard  climb  that  must  be  hers 
if  she  ever  made  of  herself  what  her  Jacques 
Henri  wanted. 

All  of  Miss  Effie's  coaxing  could  not  keep  Beryl 
from  taking  the  afternoon  train  to  Wassumsic. 

"I  must  tell  my  mother  about  the  beads — at 
once!"  she  answered,  firmly. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

ROBIN'S  RESCUE 

JUST  as  the  shrill  of  the  train  whistle  echoed 
through  the  little  valley,  Moira  Lynch  set  her  lighted 
lamp  in  the  window.  She  did  not  sing  to-night  as 
she  performed  the  customary  ceremony,  nor  had  she 
for  many  nights.  Her  throat  seemed  too  tired,  her 
arms  dropped  with  the  weight  of  her  lamp,  a  dull 
little  pain  at  the  back  of  her  neck  gripped  her  with 
a  pulling  clutch. 

The  doctor  had  told  her  she  was  "tired  out." 
She  had  gone  to  him  very  secretly,  lest  Dale  or  big 
Danny  should  know  and  worry.  But  even  to  be 
"just  tired  out"  was  very  terrifying  to  Mother  Moira 
— if  her  arms  and  head  and  heart  failed,  who  would 
take  care  of  big  Danny  and  keep  a  little  home  for 
Dale  and  watch  over  Beryl? 

With  her  habitual  optimism  she  tried  to  laugh 
away  her  alarm,  but  the  pulling  ache  persisted  and 
her  arms  trembled  under  tasks  that  before  had 
seemed  as  nothing.  She  told  herself  that  it  was  all 
her  own  fault  that  her  big  Danny  seemed  harder  to 
please,  but  when,  under  a  particularly  trying  moment, 
she  broke  down  and  cried,  she  knew  she  was  reaching 
the  end  of  her  endurance. 

"Did  the  train  stop?"  queried  big  Danny. 

"Sure  and  it  did!"  cried  Mrs.  Moira,  trying  to 
292 


ROBIN'S  RESCUE  293 

throw  excitement  into  her  voice  to  please  the  invalid 
man.  Big  Danny  took  childish  pleasure  in  listening 
for  the  incoming  and  New  York-bound  trains. 

"What's  keeping  Dale?  Prob'bly  hanging 
'round  the  Inn!" 

Mrs.  Moira  smothered  the  quick  retort  that 
sprang  to  her  lips  in  defense  of  her  boy. 

"He'll  be  here  any  minute,"  she  said  instead, 
comfortingly.  "There  he  is  now !"  Her  quick  ear 
had  caught  a  step  outside. 

Beryl,  not  Dale,  opened  the  door  and  confronted 
them.  Suppressed  excitement,  impatience,  eager- 
ness, an  inward  disgust  of  herself  for  being  a  "selfish 
thing  anyway"  combined  to  give  Beryl's  face  such 
an  unnatural  pallor  and  haggard  tensity  of  expression 
that  big  Danny  whirled  his  chair  toward  her  and 
Mrs.  Lynch  caught  her  hands  over  her  heart. 

"Beryl?"  she  cried,  standing  quite  still. 

Beryl  walked  to  her  and  very  quietly  gathered  her 
into  her  young  arms. 

"Don't  look  so  scared,  Mom,  dear.  Oh,  don't 
cry!  Why,  I'm  near  crying  myself!  After  I've 
told  you  all  that  has  happened  I  shall  just  bawl.  I'm 
too  dreadfully  happy.  Sit  down  here,  Mom,  and 
hold  my  hand  tight.  Wait — I  must  take  my  things 
off  first." 

In  a  twinkling  she  had  her  stage  "set"  for  her  sur- 
prise. Strangely  stirred  herself,  she  had  to  gulp 
once  or  twice  before  she  could  begin  her  story.  It 


294  RED-ROBIN 

was  difficult  to  keep  it  coherent,  too,  because  Mrs. 
Moira  interrupted  her  so  often  with  little  unneces- 
sary questions. 

"Did  you  really  go  to  New  York?" 

"And  'twas  all  night  you  stayed  at  the  Allendyces 
themselves?" 

Because  of  her  mother's  agitation,  Beryl  aban- 
doned the  details  with  which  she  had  planned  to  lead 
up  to  the  great  surprise.  She  plunged  abruptly  to 
the  point  of  the  story. 

"Those  beads.  They  weren't  just  plain  beads. 
They  were  a  precious  necklace  made  by  some  queer 
people,  ages  and  ages  ago.  Queens  have  worn  'em 
and  all  sorts  of  wicked  people  and  they've  gone  from 
hand  to  hand — I  s'pose  I  ought  to  say  neck  to  neck — 
for  all  these  years  and  then,  suddenly,  no  one  could 
find  them.  And  Mr.  Allendyce's  friend — the  col- 
lector— gave  me  this  money  outright  for  them  and — " 

Mrs.  Lynch  suddenly  sprang  to  furious  life.  She 
stood  erect,  her  eyes  flashing,  her  ringers  working 
in  and  out,  her  lips  trembling. 

"You  sold  my — you  sold  my  beads!  Beryl 
Lynch,  how  dared  you.  My — my — " 

Beryl  stared  at  her.  She  could  not  speak  for 
sheer  amazement. 

"My  beads !  They — were — the  last — thing — I — 
had  that  held — me — to — my — dreams."  Her  voice 
died  off  in  a  heart-broken  whisper  that  hurt  Beryl 
to  the  soul. 

"Mother!     Mother,  please  don't.     It  isn't  too 


ROBIN'S  RESCUE  295 

late.  I  can  get  them  back.  I  didn't  know  you  cared, 
don't  you  see?" 

Beryl  of  course  did  not  know  about  the  pulling 
ache  at  the  back  of  Mother  Moira's  neck  or  she  would 
have  understood  that  her  mother's  hysteria  was  due 
partly  to  that.  She  had  never  seen  her  mother  look 
so  queer  and  old  and  pale  and  it  frightened  her. 

Mrs.  Lynch  crossed  the  room  until  she  stood 
behind  Danny's  chair.  Involuntarily  her  hand 
moved  to  his  shoulder. 

"No,  you  wouldn't  know.  It  isn't  your  fault. 
Of  course  it's  just  beads  they  were,  but  they  belonged 
to  the  young  part  of  me  when  my  heart  was  that 
light  and  full  of  beautiful  dreams  and  so  strong 
that  it  hurt  the  inside  of  me.  And  nothing  in  this 
world  was  too  fine  for  the  likes  of  my  Danny  and 
me.  And  we  thought  'twas  just  ours  for  the  asking. 
And  then  when  the  clouds  come — "  her  hand  pressed 
big  Danny's  shoulder  ever  so  lightly,  "I  told  myself 
the  dreams  were  my  own  and  no  one  could  take  them 
away  from  me  and  if  I  couldn't  make  them  come  true, 
as  true  for  himself  and  me,  sure,  I'd  keep  them  for  my 
boy  and  girl.  And  'twas  the  beads  were  like  a  dear 
voice  out  of  the  past  telling  me  to  be  strong,  for 
Father  Murphy,  with  the  saints  in  Heaven  now, 
God  rest  him,  gave  them  to  me  himself  with  his 
blessing  and  saying  might  my  dreams  come  true! 
Ah,  well — sure  it's  a  punishment,  maybe,  for  me 
wanting  things  just  for  my  own — " 

"Mother!"  broke  in  Beryl,  sternly.     "As  if  yon 


296  RED-ROBIN 

could  be  punished  for  anything!  Will  you  tell  me 
one  thing?  Which  would  you  rather  have — those 
beads — or — or — a  nice  little  farm  in  the  hills  with  a 
cow  and  chickens  and  pigs  and  a  little  orchard  and 
— and  a  Ford — and  a  girl  to  do  the  cooking  so's  you 
could  stay  with  Pop,  and  Dale  studying  engineering 
in  some  college,  if  he  wanted  to,  and  me — " 

"Beryl  Lynch,  are  ye  crazy?"  cried  big  Danny, 
suspecting  that  the  girl  was  in  someway  trying  to 
mock  her  mother. 

"No,  I'm  not  crazy,  though  I  ought  to  be,  with 
old  Jacques  Henri  scolding  me  and  now  mother — " 
She  bit  her  lip  childishly.  "Will  you  please  just 
answer  me,  mother?" 

"A  farm — with  a  garden — and  a  cow — and  trees 
and  a  good  stretch  of  the  green  meadow — ah,  sure 
I'd  think  it  a  bit  of  Heaven." 

"Mother,  you  can  have  it!  You  can  have  it!" 
Beryl  rushed  to  and  knelt  by  big  Danny's  chair. 
"That's  what  I  was  trying  to  tell  you.  That  man 
will  give  you  fifteen  thousand  dollars  for  those  beads ! 
Really,  truly.  See,  he  gave  me  all  this  money  today. 
And  Mr.  Allendyce  will  put  the  rest  in  the  bank. 
Oh,  I  know  it's  hard  to  believe  but  it's  true.  You 
can  ask  Mr.  Allendyce." 

Big  Danny,  with  trembling  hands,  took  the  roll 
of  bills  from  Beryl's  purse.  They  were  undisputable 
proof  of  her  story. 

"Moira  girl,  'tis  true!"  Big  Danny's  voice 
trembled. 


ROBIN'S  RESCUE  297 

"  2Tis  Father  Murphy's  blessing,"  whispered 
Mrs.  Lynch,  a  strange  light  in  her  eyes.  "May  I 
be  worthy  of  it!"  Then  she  roused  and  laughed,  a 
tinkling  laugh.  "Ah — my  girl  shall  have  her  music, 
now!  Oh,  it's  too  wonderful." 

"Where's  Dale?"  cried  Beryl,  her  heart  jubilant 
that  the  unexpected  crisis  had  passed.  "Won't  he 
be  surprised?" 

"What  ever  can  be  keeping  the  boy?  Tis  long 
past  the  hour." 

"Now,  mother,  don't  you  begin  a-worrying. 
Dale's  old  enough  to  look  after  himself." 

"It's  a  fussing  old  hen  I  am,  as  true  as  true!" 
And  because  once  more  her  heart  was  so  light  inside 
of  her  that  it  hurt,  she  kissed  her  big  Danny  on  the 
top  of  his  head. 

"I  wish  Dale  would  come.  I  ought  to  go  back 
to  the  Manor.  Harkness  is  probably  worrying  his 
head  off  over  my  strange  visit  to  New  York." 

But  Harkness  had  other  things  to  worry  about. 

Dale  burst  in  upon  his  family  just  a  few  moments 
after  Beryl  had  spoken  but  she  did  not  tell  her  story. 
He  gave  her  no  opportunity. 

"Gordon  Forsyth's  lost!" 

"Lost?" 

"Yes.  Somewhere  in  the  woods  between  Corn- 
wall and  South  Falls.  Strangest  thing  you  ever 
heard.  She  made  young  Tom  Granger  run  off  with 
her — goodness  knows  where  they  were  headed  for, 
and  when  his  car  went  into  the  ditch  she  made  a  dask 


298  RED-ROBIN 

for  the  woods  and  that's  the  last  anyone's  seen 
of  her." 

"Why,   Dale,  she  couldn't—"  cried  Beryl. 

"Couldn't  ?  Easiest  thing  in  the  world.  Woods 
are  thick  and  miles  deep  through  there." 

"I  mean  she  couldn't  be  running  off  with  Tom 
Granger.  Why,  she  never  met  him  until  yesterday — " 

"Well,  it  wasn't  exactly  with  him  but  she  made 
him  take  her  off.  She  was  running  away  from 
some  one.  Granger's  been  over  here  talking  to 
Norris.  They  called  me  in.  Seems  Kraus  had  taken 
my  model  to  sell  to  Granger,  and  called  it  his  own, 
and  Miss  Gordon  heard  him.  And  she  just  walked 
in  when  they  weren't  in  the  room  and — took  it. 
Granger  wouldn't  say  any  more.  He's  too  worried. 
What  I  think  is  that  Kraus  chased  them — Miss 
Gordon  and  Tom  Granger — " 

"How  thrilling!  What  an  adventure,"  exclaimed 
Beryl,  her  eyes  shining.  Oh,  exciting  things  were 
happening ! 

"Thrilling !  Won't  be  thrilling  if  anything's  hap- 
pened to  the  kid.  It's  four  hours  now  and  Granger's 
had  a  bunch  of  men  hunting  ever  since  his  son  walked 
into  the  office  and  gave  the  alarm.  Can  you  give 
me  a  bite  in  a  hurry,  Mom  ?  The  Manor  car's  going 
to  take  six  of  us  over  to  meet  young  Granger  and 
make  a  thorough  search." 

"But  it's  tired  to  death  you  look  now,  Dale. 
Can't—" 


ROBIN'S  RESCUE  299 

"I'm  not  tired — just  bothered.  Mom,  I  hate  to 
think  of  that  little  thing  getting  into  this  fix  just  for 
my  model.  Granger  was  awfully  decent  about  the 
thing;  told  Norris  he  was  a  fool  not  to  jump  at  it. 
He  said  he  had  some  sort  of  a  note  Miss  Robin  had 
left  and  it  seemed  to  amuse  him,  but  he  didn't  offer 
to  show  it.  It  isn't  only  because  she's  a  Forsyth 
I  care,  but  she's  such  a  square  little  thing.  Hurry 
up,  please,  Mom,  Williams  may  stop  any  moment." 

"I  ought  to  go  up  to  the  Manor.  They  must 
be  in  an  awful  state." 

"Wait,  as  soon  as  ever  I  can  fix  your  father 
I'll  go  with  you  myself,"  cried  Mrs.  Lynch. 


Toward  noon  of  the  next  day,  in  answer  to  an 
urgent  telegram,  Cornelius  Allendyce  arrived  at  the 
Manor,  having  come  down  from  New  York  by 
motor.  Just  as  he  was  gulping  down  the  coffee 
Harkness  had  brought  to  him,  Mr.  Granger,  Senior, 
was  ushered  in. 

The  men  knew  one  another  well.  They  shook 
hands,  then  Cornelius  Allendyce  motioned  him  to  a 
chair  opposite  him  at  the  table. 

The  lawyer  only  needed  to  look  at  the  other 
man's  face  to  know  that  he  brought  no  good  news. 

"Tom  telephoned  from  Cornwall  at  six  o'clock. 
Not  a  sign.  Not  so  much  as  a  red  hair !  Strangest 
thing  I  ever  heard  of.  They're  going  to  search  the 


300  RED-ROBIN 

ravines  today — easy  enough  for  her  to  stumble  into 
them  if  she  was  frightened  or  hurrying.  Then 
there's  the  kidnapping  possibility!" 

"Improbable!"  protested  the  lawyer. 

"Well,  nothing's  improbable.  You'd  have  said 
it  wasn't  to  be  thought  of  that  a  youngster  like  that 
would  run  off  with  that  model.  I  want  to  give  you 
the  details  of  this  whole  matter — they'd  be  extremely 
interesting  if  one  were  not  so  concerned."  He  told 
of  his  two  interviews  with  Adam  Kraus  and  of 
Dale's  invention.  "A  master  contrivance.  I  can't 
understand  your  man,  here,  letting  it  get  away  from 
him.  Why,  it's  worth  a  lot  to  me,  but  in  these  Mills 
— well,  you  may  not  know  what  I  think  of  your 
mills,"  he  laughed.  "I'll  tell  you  another  time.  The 
girl  saw  this  Kraus  go  into  my  office,  and  persuaded 
my  boy,  who'd  been  taking  her  for  a  ride,  to  stop. 
She  was  waiting  in  my  outer  office  and  heard  Kraus 
claim  the  invention  as  his  own — scoundrel  that  he 
was — and  when  I  took  Kraus  to  see  my  head  fore- 
man, didn't  she  walk  in,  help  herself  to  the  model 
and  leave  me  this."  He  drew  an  envelope  from 
his  pocket  and  handed  it  to  Cornelius  Allendyce. 
"Read  it." 

"This  model  is  Dale  Lynch's.  I  am  taking  it  to  him. 
When  I  see  my  guardian,  I  shall  make  him  buy  it  for  the 
Forsyth  Mills. 

GORDON   FORSYTE." 

Cornelius  Allendyce  looked  up  from  the  bit  of 


ROBIN'S  RESCUE  301 

paper.  He  had  suddenly  recalled  the  frightened 
little  girl  he  had  first  brought  to  Gray  Manor. 

"Who'd  believe  that  the  child  had  the  nerve?" 

"That's  what  I  said.  Well,  she  ran  off  with  it, 
Kraus  gave  chase,  Tom  headed  toward  Cornwall, 
then  switched  off  on  an  unimproved  road  and  came 
to  grief.  Just  as  Kraus  was  about  to  overtake  them 
the  child  ran  off  into  the  wood.  Tom  didn't  have 
the  vaguest  idea  what  it  was  all  about,  but  he  tried  to 
head  off  Kraus  and  when  Kraus  started  for  the 
wood  he  did  a  little  wrestling  trick  that  surprised  the 
fellow,  got  him  down,  tied  him  in  the  Ford  and 
went  himself  in  search  of  Miss  Gordon.  When  he 
came  back  after  an  hour's  search  he  found  Kraus 
and  the  Ford  gone  and  he  walked  back  to  South 
Falls.  That's  all." 

"That  model  may  be  worth  a  lot,  but  it  is  not 
worth  another  tragedy  to  this  house,"  groaned 
Cornelius  Allendyce. 

"No.  It  is  worth  a  good  deal — but  not — 
that  much." 

A  few  moments'  deep  silence  prevailed.  Wrinkles 
of  worry  twisted  the  lawyer's  face.  What  a  mess 
it  all  was,  anyway — he  had  urged  Robin  to  go  to 
the  Granger's  in  hopes  that  she'd  bring  the  two 
families  into  close  intimacy  again  and  instead  of  that 
she  had  gotten  herself  into  this  fix.  If  they  found 
her  safe  and  sound  she  ought  to  be  spanked  and 
taught  to  keep  her  hands  off  the  Mill  affairs  until 


302  RED-ROBIN 

she  was  older.  But  down  in  his  heart  he  knew  this 
was  only  a  vexatious  expression  of  his  concern — • 
you  couldn't  punish  Robin  for  anything. 

"As  her  guardian  I  appreciate  your  alarm.  I 
share  it  with  you,  not  alone  because  Miss  Forsytb 
was  a  guest  at  my  house  but  because  I  took  a  great 
fancy  to  the  child.  It  struck  me,  as  I  looked  at 
her,  that  her  coming  to  Wassumsic — to  the  Manor, 
might  change  things,  here,  quite  a  bit." 

"It  has — it  will,"  mumbled  Mr.  Allendyce.  For 
a  moment,  just  to  relieve  his  feelings,  he  wondered 
if  he  might  not  confide  in  this  very  human  man 
the  ordeal  he  must  face  with  Madame  Forsyth  when 
his  reckoning  came. 

"My  wife  is  prostrated  with  it  all.  She  does 
not  know  the  particulars  but  she  is  deeply  concerned. 
I  do  not  like  to  add  to  your  worry  but  do  you  think 
there  is  any  possibility  that  the  child  returned  to 
the  road,  and  that  Kraus,  freed  from  Tom's  rope, 
captured  her  and  went  off  with  her?" 

"Why,  every  possibility  in  the  world!"  shouted 
Robin's  guardian.  "Why  did  you  hug  that  idea 
to  yourself  ?  We'll  telephone  the  New  York  police. 
He's  sure  to  make  straight  for  the  city." 

Both  men  welcomed  action.  They  rushed  to  the 
library  and  put  in  a  long  distance  call  and  then,  while 
waiting,  paced  the  room's  length  back  and  forth. 
Harkness,  shaking  and  white  and  miserable,  glued 
his  ear  to  the  crack  in  the  door,  hopeful  for  one 
crumb  of  comforting  news. 


ROBIN'S  RESCUE  303 

Below  stairs  Mrs.  Budge,  flatly  refusing  to  believe 
that  "Miss  Robin"  could  be  lost  just  when  she  had 
learned  to  love  her,  beat  up  a  cake  for  her  home- 
coming, unmindful  of  the  tears  that  splashed  into 
the  batter. 

In  the  little  sitting-room  they  had  shared,  Beryl, 
who  did  not  even  have  the  heart  to  play  with  Susy, 
sat  with  her  nose  against  the  window  watching  the 
ribbon  of  road  over  which  anyone  would  come  if  they 
came.  That  was  why  she  was  the  first  of  the  Manor 
household  to  spy  the  dilapidated  Ford  approaching, 
snorting  up  the  incline.  Something  about  it  made 
her  think  of  the  general  dilapidation  of  the  Forgotten 
Village.  It  might  be  some  word !  She  rushed  down 
the  stairs,  two  steps  at  a  time,  past  the  startled 
Harkness,  through  the  big  front  door.  The  strange- 
looking  car  had  turned  into  the  Manor  gate.  A  man 
with  long  white  whiskers  was  driving  it.  And  yes, 
a  bareheaded  girl,  who  looked  like  Robin,  sat  on 
the  back  seat.  It  was  Robin.  Beryl  waved  her  hand 
wildly  and  Robin  answered.  But  who  rode  with  her  ? 
Beryl's  flying  feet  came  to  a  quick  halt. 

"As  sure  as  I'm  alive  it's  the  Queen  of  Altruria !" 

Turning,  Beryl  rushed  back  to  the  Manor. 

"Harkness!  Harkness!"  she  cried,  bursting  in 
through  the  door.  "Robin's  coming!  She's  here! 
And  she's  brought  the  Queen  of  Altruria  with  her ! 
Oh,  what' II  we  do?"  For  surely  some  ceremony 
befitting  royalty  should  be  prepared. 

"The  Queen  of  what — "  cried  Mr.  Granger  and 


304  RED-ROBIN 

Cornelius  Allendyce  rushing  from  the  library.  "Oh, 
the  girl's  crazy — "  asserted  the  lawyer.  Neverthe- 
less he  ran  to  the  door,  followed  by  Mr.  Granger  and 
Harkness  and  Beryl  and  Hannah  Budge  and  Chloe, 
who  had  heard  Beryl's  glad  cry  in  the  kitchen. 

At  close  range  the  dilapidated  Ford  looked  even 
more  dilapidated ;  Robin,  letting  her  royal  companion 
talk  terms  of  payment  with  the  bewhiskered  scion  of 
the  Forgotten  Village,  clambered  out  the  moment  the 
car  stopped  and  fell  into  Beryl's  arms.  From  their 
shelter,  after  the  briefest  instant,  she  lifted  her  face 
to  greet  her  guardian  and  found  him  staring  at  the 
Queen  in  a  sort  of  stupid  unbelief. 

"I  brought — "  Robin  started  an  introduction,  but 
did  not  finish.  For,  recovering,  with  an  obvious 
effort,  his  natural  manner  of  politeness,  her  guardian 
was  hurrying  down  the  steps  to  the  little  car. 

"Madame  Forsyth,  I  did  not  expect — " 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

MADAME  FORSYTH  COMES  HOME 

"No.  I  judge  from  all  your  faces  no  one  ex- 
pected me!"  exclaimed  Madame  Forsyth  coldly, 
extending  to  Cornelius  Allendyce  the  tips  of  her 
fingers.  "Harkness,  you  look  as  though  you  were 
seeing  a  ghost !" 

Her  rebuking  words  had  the  effect  of  galvanizing 
poor  Harkness'  limbs  to  action— but  not  his  tongue. 
Though  he  hobbled  down  the  steps  and  took  the  bag 
from  the  lawyer's  hand,  not  a  word  could  he  speak 
from  sheer  stupefaction. 

And  Hannah  Budge  so  forgot  her  long  years  of 
loyalty  to  the  House  of  Forsyth  as  to  cry  out— "Oh, 
Miss  Robin !"  before  so  much  as  one  word  of  greeting 
for  Madame  Forsyth. 

"You  could  'a  clean  knocked  me  over,"  she  ex- 
plained to  Harkness  afterward,  "Our  Madame  going 
away  as  fine  as  you  please  with  that  baggage  of  a 
Florrie  who  was  as  full  of  tricks  as  a  cat  after  a. 
mouse,  and  coming  back  in  that  old  car  that  had 
moss  on  it,  I  do  believe,  and  with  Miss  Robin,  too, 
who  they  all  thought  was  lost  though  /  knew  better. 
Something  told  me  to  beat  up  that  cake  yesterday!" 
"And  Miss  Robin  didn't  know  Madame  was 
Madame,"  explained  Harkness.  his  face  oerolexccL 
"She  and  Miss  Beryl  here  >e  been  thinking 
20  305 


3o6  RED-ROBIN 

was  some  mysterious  lydy  or  other — Williams  says 
they  got  it  in  their  little  heads  she  was  a  Queen 
hiding—" 

"Madame  hiding  where?"  snorted  Budge. 

"Well,  I  can't  make  nothing  out  of  it.  My  head 
goes  'round  in  a  circle  like.  Only  Williams  says 
that  lydy  must  be  the  lydy  the  young  lydies  visited, 
mysterious  like,  just  afore  Christmas  and  the  lydy's 
our  Madame  all  right  and  that's  what  I  say  my 
head  goes  'round  in  a  circle !" 

"Your  tongue,  too,  Timothy  Harkness.  Well, 
there's  lots  going  to  happen  now,  or  my  name  ain't 
Hannah  Budge.  First  thing.  I  s'pose,  she'll  clear 
that  Castle  young  'un  out  of  the  house  and  then  your 
Miss  Beryl.  And  mebbe  send  Miss  Robin  off  to 
school  somewheres  to  get  these  common  notions  out 
o'  her  little  head.  You  say  they're  all  talking  up- 
stairs now?" 

"Only  Madame  and  the  lawyer  man.  Mr. 
Granger's  gone  down  to  the  Mills  to  send  word  to 
his  home  that  Miss  Robin's  found." 

"Saints  be  praised!"  murmured  Mrs.  Budge, 
devoutly. 

Up  in  her  little  sitting-room  Robin  and  Beryl 
sat  arm  in  arm,  and  Robin  told  Beryl  the  whole  story 
of  her  adventure.  On  the  window  seat  beside  them 
lay  the  square  box  containing  Dale's  model. 

"I  just  ran,  Beryl,  as  fast  as  I  could  and  anywhere. 
I  was  so  frightened  I  didn't  stop  to  look.  I  fell 


MADAME  FORSYTH  COMES  HOME  307 

do»vn  twice  and  the  second  time  I  was  so  tired  I 
could  scarcely  get  up.  But  I  had  to.  And  then  I 
thought  I'd  found  a  path,  and  I  followed  it,  but  it 
stopped  at  a  ravine  that  was,  oh,  so  deep.  Well,  I 
knew  I  was  lost.  I  called  and  called  and  no  one 
answered.  And  I  heard  all  sorts  of  queer  noises  as 
though  there  might  be  wild  beasts.  One  came  very 
close,  I'm  sure,  though  I  couldn't  see  it.  And  I 
was  dreadfully  hungry.  I  sat  down  on  a  log  and 
cried,  too — my  feet  ached  so  and  my  arms  ached  so 
from  carrying  this  box.  I  decided  to  bury  it  and 
leave  a  note  telling  about  it,  for,  honestly,  Beryl, 
I  didn't  think  then  I'd  live  an  hour  longer,  but  I 
didn't  have  a  pencil  and  when  I  started  to  dig  with 
my  hands  the  ground  was  so  gooy  that  I  couldn't 
bear  to.  Oh,  I'll  never  forget  it."  She  shuddered 
and  Beryl  held  her  hands  tighter.  "And  it  began  to 
get  dark.  I  tried  to  be  brave  and  say  nothing  could 
hurt  me,  but  I  couldn't  help  but  hear  the  funny 
noises  and  I  was  so  awfully  alone.  I  started  to  walk 
again,  just  somewhere,  because  when  I  walked  I 
couldn't  hear  all  the  sounds  and  every  now  and  then 
I'd  call  out.  And  just  as  it  was  almost  pitch  dark  in 
the  wood  something  big  came  rushing  toward  me 
and  sprang  at  me  and,  Beryl,  I  fainted  dead  away! 
Well,  the  next  thing  I  knew  something  was  licking 
my  face.  And  someone  was  saying  something  queer, 
and  Beryl,  it  was  Caesar  and  that  Brina  from  our 
House  of  Rushing  Water!  Caesar  had  heard  me 


3o8  RED-ROBIN 

call  and  found  me,  and  then  he  had  barked  and  howled 
until  Brina  came  with  a  lantern." 

Beryl  jumped  up  and  down  in  excitement. 

"What  happened  then?"  she  cried. 

"Brina  carried  me — and  that  box — to  the  house 
in  the  wood.  It  seemed  I'd  gotten  most  to  it  and 
didn't  know  it.  And  the  Queen  was  awfully  fright- 
ened. But  she  wouldn't  let  me  say  a  word ;  she  made 
Brina  put  me  in  her  bed  and  she  covered  me  with 
blankets  and  she  fed  me  herself,  something  hot  and 
oh,  so  good.  And  she  kept  petting  me  and  cuddling 
me  for  I  guess  I  shook  like  a  leaf.  You  see,  I 
couldn't  believe  I  was  safe  and  sound;  I  kept  seeing 
that  dog  jump  at  me !  And  finally  she  sang  to  me, 
the  nicest  old-fashioned  song  and  I  went  to  sleep,  and 
I  never  opened  my  eyes  until  this  morning,  and  there 
she  stood  by  my  bed  with  a  tray  of  nice  breakfast. 
She  wouldn't  let  me  tell  her  how  I  got  lost  until  I'd 
eaten  every  crumb.  And  then  I  felt  so  cosy  and 
warm  and  safe  that  I  told  her  everything — every- 
thing, all  about  Mother  Lynch  and  how  my  plans 
for  the  House  of  Laughter  had  failed  at  first,  and 
then  the  Rileys  and  what  I  thought  of  the  Mills, 
and  how  horrid  Mr.  Norris  was  and  about  Susy  and 
poor  Granny  and  Dale's  model,  and  then  what  I'd 
done  at  Grangers'.  I  just  got  started  and  I  couldn't 
stop.  And  Beryl,  I  told  her  again  how  my  aunt 
was  an  unhappy  old  woman  who  worried  over  her 
own  troubles  so  much  that  she  didn't  have  time  for 


MADAME  FORSYTH  COMES  HOME  309 

other  people's.  Wasn't  that  dreadful  ?"  And  Robin 
caught  up  a  pillow  and  buried  her  face  in  it. 

Beryl  looked  troubled. 

"Yes,  that  was  dreadful.  What  ever  did 
she  say  ?" 

"She  didn't  say  anything.  She  picked  up  my 
tray  and  went  out,  and  I  felt  the  way  I  had  that  other 
time,  all  fussed,  because  I'd  bothered  a  Queen  with 
my  silly  affairs.  And  I  could  have  sworn  then  she 
was  a  Queen,  Beryl,  she  had  such  a  dignified  way 
of  being  sweet  and  she  smelled  so  nice  and  perfumy 
— a  different  perfume.  And  that  Brina  had  put  the 
gorgeousest  nightgown  on  me,  too." 

"When  did  you  first  know  the  Queen  was  your 
aunt  ?"  Beryl  broke  in. 

"Beryl  Lynch,  on  my  honor,  not  until  my  guar- 
dian called  her  Madame  Forsyth!  After  she  took 
my  tray  out  she  came  back,  and  she  did  look  sort  of 
funny,  now  I  remember,  the  way  one  does  when  one 
decides  suddenly  to  do  something  you  hadn't  dreamed 
of  doing,  and  she  told  me  Brina  had  gone  into  the 
village  to  hunt  up  some  sort  of  a  vehicle  to  get  me 
back  to  the  Manor.  And  I  didn't  think  until  the  last 
moment  that  she  meant  to  come,  too.  And  all  the 
way  over  I  was  nearly  bursting  thinking  how  sur- 
prised you'd  be  and  what  fun  it  would  be  to  have  the 
Queen  visit  us.  Oh,  dear!"  And  Robin  drew  a 
long  breath,  half  sigh. 

"Well,     something'll    happen     now,"     groaned 


3io  RED-ROBIN 

Beryl,   in  much  the   same  tone    Budge   had   used. 
"When  she  finds  out  about  Susy  and  me !" 

And  below  in  the  library  the  same  thought  held 
Robin's  guardian — something  must  happen,  now. 

He  had  gone  there  to  wait  while  Madame  Forsyth 
freshened  herself  after  her  long  ride.  And  while 
he  waited,  in  considerable  apprehension,  he  planned 
the  course  he  would  follow;  if  Madame  refused  to 
accept  little  Red-Robin  as  her  heir,  because  she  was 
a  girl  and  different,  why,  he'd  take  her  back  with 
him  to  his  own  home.  She  could  live  with  him  and 
his  sister  until  Jimmie  came  back  and  he'd  even  adopt 
her  if  Jimmie  would  let  him.  And  he'd  take  Beryl, 
too,  if  Robin  wished — and  he'd  see  Susy  was  put  with 
some  nice  family. 

But  where  in  the  world  had  Robin  found  her  aunt 
—or  her  aunt  found  Robin.  Everyone  acted  as 
though  they  were  knocked  stupid  by  the  mystery — 
no  one  had  offered  a  word  of  explanation.  He 
rubbed  his  forehead  as  though  it  might  have 
circles,  too. 

"Which  shall  we  hear  first  ?"  a  voice  asked  behind 
him,  "How  you  happened  to  bring  little  Robin  here 
— or  how  7  did?" 

The  words  startled  him  more  because  of  their 
tone  than  their  unexpectedness.  And  turning,  he 
saw  (to  his  immense  relief)  that  Madame  Forsyth 
was  smiling — and  in  her  eyes  was  a  softened  look, 
though  they  were  shadowed  with  fatigue. 


MADAME  FORSYTH  COMES  HOME  311 

"I  am  immensely  curious,  I  must  admit,  as  to 
where  you  found  Robin,  but  I  feel  that  I  owe  you 
the  first  explanation." 

He  told  then,  of  his  first  visit  to  Patchin  Place 
and  of  his  finding  little  Robin  in  her  curious 
surroundings. 

"I  really  cannot  say  just  what  put  the  notion  in 
my  head  of  taking  her  to  the  Manor — I  think  it  was 
something  appealing  about  the  child." 

"You  are  more  honest  to  admit  that  than  I  ex- 
pected, Cornelius  Allendyce.  Your  silence  in  regard 
to  her  being  a  girl  might  seem  inexcusable  to  me  only 
that  I  am  glad,  now,  that  you  kept  silence.  For 
I  would  have  most  certainly,  then,  sent  her  back. 
And — I  am  glad  that  never  happened.  You  see  / 
can  be  honest,  too." 

"Before  I  can  explain  my  finding  the  child  in 
this  last  plight  of  hers  I  must  tell  you  a  little  of  my 
'wanderings'  since  I  left  the  Manor.  They  were  not 
far.  I  went  to  New  York  and  reserved  passage  on 
a  steamer  sailing  for  the  Mediterranean  the  next 
week.  That  evening  I  saw  the  'for  sale'  notice  of  a 
house  in  the  Connecticut  woods,  which  advertised 
absolute  seclusion.  I  telephoned  to  my  banker,  who 
has  been  in  my  confidence,  and  he  made  a  hurried 
trip  to  Brown's  Mill  and  bought  the  house,  just  as  it 
stood.  The  next  day  I  discharged  Florrie,  cancelled 
my  sailing  reservations,  picked  up  a  strong  German 
woman  for  a  cook,  bought  a  dog  and  rode  out  to 


3i2  RED-ROBIN 

my  new  home.  It  offered  all  that  I  had  hoped  it 
would.  There  I  planned  to  find  a  change  that  would 
be  a  rest,  to  forget  the  world  about  me  and  live  in 
my  past,  which  was  all  I  had.  And  for  several 
weeks  I  did — until  two  girls  broke  in  upon  my 
precious  privacy." 

She  told  of  Robin  and  Beryl's  first  visit  and  then 
of  their  second,  and  of  the  gifts  they  brought  from 
the  Manor. 

"I  confess  it  was  a  shock  to  me  to  discover  that 
this  child  was — Gordon  Forsyth.  Yet  it  was  the 
shock  I  needed  to  rouse  me  from  my  depression. 
For,  like  you,  I  fell  quickly  under  the  girl's  charm. 
From  that  day  on  I  found  I  could  not  hold  my 
thoughts  to  my  past — in  spite  of  me  they  persisted  in 
dwelling  upon  the  present — and  the  future.  You  see 
I  am  frank  with  you." 

Cornelius  Allendyce  nodded.  He  dared  not  speak 
for  he  did  not  want  to  betray  the  relief  he  felt. 

"I  do  not  think  I  would  have  returned  to  the 
Manor  for  several  weeks  yet,  for  my  health  has 
singularly  benefited  by  my — unusual  change,  except 
that  this  escapade  of  Robin's  made  me  feel  that  I  was 
needed  here.  Something  she  said  made  up  my  mind 
for  me,  rather  quickly.  Cornelius  Allendyce — that 
child  has  a  great  gift.  It  is  the  gift  of  giving.  An 
unusual  talent  in  the  Forsyth  family,  you  are  think- 
ing! But  like  all  talents  it  ought  to  be  trained  and 
directed  and  strengthened  and  my  work  is — to  do  it. 
I  had  thought  my  life  lived — but  it  is  not,  and  I  am 


MADAME  FORSYTH  COMES  HOME  313 

happy  to  have  found  it  so.  I  am  too  old,  perhaps, 
to  learn  the  new  ways  but  I  am  not  too  old  to 
safeguard  them." 

"You  are  a  wonderful  old  woman,"  the  lawyer 
answered,  quite  involuntarily  and  with  such  instant 
alarm  at  his  audacity  that  Madame  Forsyth  smiled. 

"Oh,  no.  I  am  not  wonderful  at  all.  I  am  re- 
vealing my  heart  to  you,  now,  in  a  way  I  do  not 
often  open  it,  but  I  shall,  to  my  last  day,  prob- 
ably, be  a  proud,  overbearing  old  woman  with  a 
sharp  tongue.  You,  however,  will  know  what 
is  underneath." 

There  was  a  moment's  silence,  then  Madame 
Forsyth  told  him  of  Caesar's  finding  Robin  in  the 
woods  and  giving  the  alarm. 

"The  child  was  utterly  exhausted.  I  cannot  bear 
to  think  of  what  might  have  happened  if  we — had 
not  been  living  there.  Thank  God  we  found  her. 
May  I  summon  the  girls  ?  I  am  curious  to  see  more 
of  this  rather  unusual  young  person  my  niece  has 
attached  to  my  household." 

Then  the  lawyer  remembered  Beryl's  great  good 
fortune  and  that  nothing  had  been  said  concerning 
that.  How  happy  Robin  would  be ! 

In  answer  to  Madame's  summons  Robin  and 
Beryl  came  to  the  library,  nervously  sedate  in  manner 
and  with  fingers  intertwined  in  a  close  grip. 

Madame  beckoned  to  them  with  her  jeweled 
white  hand. 

"Come  to  me,  Robin.     Are  you  sorry  to  find  that 


314  RED-ROBIN 

your  mysterious  friend  by  the  Rushing  Waters — is 
your  aunt?" 

Robin  advanced  slowly,  hsr  eyes  on  her  aunt's 
face. 

"No,  oh,  no!  Only — maybe  you're  sorry  about 
— me — being  a  girl  and  such  a  small  one — and 
lame,  too — " 

"Oh,  my  dear!"  And  Madame  Forsyth  held  out 
her  arms  impulsively  and  Robin,  her  face  aglow, 
snuggled  into  them. 

Every  moment  of  that  day  something  exciting 
and  significant  seemed  to  happen.  Ever  so  many 
people  called,  and  it  was  fun  to  see  their  surprise  at 
finding  Madame  home.  Aunt  Mathilde,  (Robin 
could  not  make  the  name  sound  natural)  upon  intro- 
duction, had  acted  as  though  she  almost  liked  Susy, 
and  Susy  had  looked  very  cunning  in  the  new  dress 
the  nurse  had  made  for  her.  And  she  hadn't  said 
Susy  would  have  to  go!  Then  Robin  flew  off,  the 
very  first  moment,  with  Beryl  to  find  Mrs.  Lynch 
and  hug  her  over  the  wonderful  fortune  and  talk 
about  the  farm  which  must  be  very  near  Wassum- 
sic.  Then  Beryl  played  for  Aunt  Mathilde  and 
Aunt  Mathilde  had  looked  as  though  she  "felt 
funny  inside !" 

And  then  Dale  had  come  with  Tom  Granger, 
both  of  them  looking  haggard  from  anxiety  and  lack 
of  sleep.  They  came  in  while  Beryl  was  playing. 
Robin  was  glad  of  that  for  it  gave  her  a  moment 


MADAME  FORSYTH  COMES  HOME  315 

to  think  what  she  must  say  to  Tom  Granger 
m  explanation. 

She  did  not  need  to  say  anything,  however.  Tom 
knew  the  whole  story,  from  his  father  and  from  Dale, 
He  and  Dale  had  become  fast  friends. 

He  caught  Robin's  hand  and  pumped  her  small 
arm  until  it  ached. 

"I  had  to  see  you  to  believe  you'd  turned  up," 
he  laughed.  "You  certainly  gave  us  a  scare  we  won't 
forget  in  a  hurry!  But  you're  a  good  little  sport 
and  I'm  coming  around,  if  I  may,  to  take  you  for  a 
ride — before  I  have  to  go  back  to  school." 

"Well,  I  never  want  to  go  fast  again  in  my  life," 
cried  Robin,  coloring  under  the  meaning  glance  Beryl 
shot  at  her. 

Dale  greeted  her  more  shyly,  and  because  Madame 
Forsyth  and  Cornelius  Allendyce  were  talking  to 
Tom,  and  Beryl  had  eyes  and  ears  only  for  the 
nice-looking  lad,  no  one  overheard  what  passed 
between  them. 

"Miss  Robin,  I  would  never  have  forgiven  myself 
if  anything  had  happened  to  you!  You  should  not 
have  taken  such  a  risk — just  for  my  model." 

Robin  looked  at  Dale  with  shining  eyes.  Would 
she  tell  him  of  her  "pretend?" 

"You  saved  my  life  once,"  she  exclaimed, 
impulsively, 

"7  did!" 

"Yes — a  long  time  ago.     I   was  hunting  in  a 


316  RED-ROBIN 

little  park  in  New  York  for  my  doll  that  I'd  left  there 
and  you  found  me,  crying.  And  you  took  me  home 
— to  Patchin  Place.  I  guess  maybe  you  forgot,  be- 
cause you  were  big  and  I  was  a  little  bit  of  a  thing !" 

Dale  stared  at  her  for  a  moment,  then  he  laughed. 

"Why,  of  course — I  remember  now.  You  were 
a  little  bit  of  a  thing,  with  blue  eyes  and  a  blue  tarn. 
YOU  asked  me  what  a  Ma  was !  Yes,  I'd  clean  for- 
gotten." He  sobered  suddenly,  and  Robin  knew  it 
was  because  he  remembered  why  he  had  forgotten. 
His  father  had  been  hurt  that  evening. 

He  looked  very  big  now  and  very  much  grown 
up  and  Robin  wondered,  with  a  wild  confusion  send- 
ing her  blood  tingling  to  her  face,  would  he  remember 
that  she  had  kissed  him  and  called  him  her  Prince? 
She  watched  him,  trembling.  But  no,  he  did  not 
remember ! 

"Well,  you've  more  than  repaid  me  for  that  little 
thing,"  he  said.  "Someone  else  would  have  found 
you  if  I  hadn't.  And  please  promise,  Miss  Robin, 
you  won't  take  any  more  chances  for  me!" 

So  Robin  locked  her  precious  "pretend"  away  in 
her  heart — not  to  be  forgotten,  but  to  be  enjoyed, 
as  a  big-little  girl  enjoys  taking  out  childish  toys 
or  dolls  or  fancies,  dusting  them  carefully,  caressing 
them  tenderly,  putting  them  back  reverently — and 
feeling  tremendously  grown-up! 


MADAME  FORSYTH  COMES  HOME  317 

A  silvery,  shimmery  young  moon  shone  down 
upon  two  heads  close  together  at  a  wide-open  window. 
The  one  was  dark  and  the  other  red.  And  the  same 
young  moon  audaciously  winked  at  the  whispered 
confidences  exchanged  in  the  brooding  quiet  of 
the  night. 

"Oh,  Robin,  doesn't  it  seem  an  age  since  you 

went  off  to  Granger's  ? So  much  has  happened. 

I  don't  feel  like  the  same  girl Tom  Granger's 

awfully  nice  looking his  eyes  are  blue,  Robin 

oh,  I  won't  let  myself  think  of  going  to  New 

York  until  Mom  and  Pop  are  settled  somewhere  away 

from  the  Mills Robin,  you're  so  quiet 1 

should  think  you'd  be  bursting — " 

"I'm  glad  my  aunt  was  nice  to  Susy  and  your 
mother  and — Dale.  Beryl,  she's  going  to  make 
Norris  take  that  invention " 

"Well,    I    never    dreamed   that    old   toy    really 

amounted  to  anything — " 

« » 

"Beryl,  don't  you  love  the  stars?  You're  quiet 
now " 

Beryl  giggled. 

"Robin — I  just  remembered !  Do  you  realize  we 
gave  our — Queen — her  own  book  for  Christmas?" 

"Beryl,  as  sure  as  anything !     Oh,  how  f many !" 


EPILOGUE 

A  STORY  AFTER  THE  STORY 

IN  a  hammock  hung  between  two  leafing  apple 
trees,  a  woman  lay,  so  very  still  that  she  seemed 
sleeping.  A  fitful  breeze  stirred  the  pale  foliage 
over  her  head,  now  and  then  showering  her  with 
pink  petals  from  the  lingering  blossoms;  from  be- 
neath her  rose  the  damp  sweet  fragrance  of  soft  earth 
and  green  grass,  near-by  a  meadow-lark  sang  plaint- 
ively ;  somewhere  a  robin  called  arrogantly  to  his  mate 
in  the  nest;  from  the  valley,  stretching  below  the 
sloping  orchard,  a  violet  mist  lifted. 

A  tender  smile  played  over  the  lips  of  the  reclining 
woman  and  her  eyes  stared  through  the  lacy  canopy 
of  green  into  the  blue  sky,  where  fleecy  clouds  sailed 
off  to  the  west  and  south. 

A  lingering  echo  went  singing  through  her  heart. 
"It  is  all  yours,  Moira  Lynch!  It  is  all  yours!" 
The  beauty  around  her — the  promise  of  spring,  the 
green  of  orchard  and  meadow  and  distant  hill,  the 
rest,  the  contentment — the  happiness,  and  oh,  most 
precious,  the  fulfilment. 

There  was  never  a  day  now,  in  Mother  Moira's 
life,  so  busy  that  she  could  not  snatch  a  moment 
to  go  over,  in  reverent  appreciation,  the  blessings 
that  were  hers.  And  no  longer  were  her  dreams — 
for  nothing  could  change  the  dreaming  heart  of  the 

318 


A  STORY  AFTER  THE  STORY   319 

little  woman — for  herself  or  even  for  her  big  Danny; 
they  were  for  her  fine  lad,  a  man  now,  and  Beryl, 
working  so  earnestly  for  her  ambition,  and  little 
Robin,  who  would  always  be  little  Robin,  and  the 
imp  of  a  Susy,  ruddy  cheeked  and  happy-hearted. 

How  long,  long  ago  seemed  those  days  when,  a 
slip  of  a  girl,  she  had  dreamed  on  that  other  hillside 
of  a  future  that  would  be  hers;  how  dazzling  had 
been  the  pictures  she  had  fancied;  how  much  she 
had  dared  to  ask.  In  her  youthful  bravado  she 
had  laughed  at  Destiny  and  had  made  so  bold  as  to 
declare  Destiny  might  even  then  be  weaving  a  bit 
of  gold  into  the  drab  fabric  of  her  life. 

(Faith,  was  not  little  Robin  her  bit  of  gold? 
Had  not  the  wonderful  change  begun  in  their  lives 
after  little  Robin  came  to  the  Manor?) 

Five  years  had  passed  since  she  and  her  big 
Danny  had  moved  from  the  village  to  the  little  farm 
that  was  "just  around  the  corner."  During  them 
she  and  big  Danny  had  been  alone  a  great  deal  of 
the  time,  excepting  for  little  Susy;  for  Dale  and  Beryl, 
after  settling  them  snugly  in  the  old-fashioned  farm- 
house, (painted  as  white  as  white  with  a  new  barn 
for  the  gentle-eyed  cow,  and  a  pen  for  the  pigs,  and  a 
trim  little  run-way  for  the  chickens)  had  gone  away, 
Dale  to  an  engineering  college,  Beryl  to  live  with 
Miss  Allendyce  and  take  her  precious  violin  lessons, 
and  lessons  in  languages  and  science.  But  Mother 
Moira  was  never  lonesome,  for  mere  miles  could  not 


320  RED-ROBIN 

separate  a  heart  like  hers  from  those  she  loved! 

There  had  been  significant  changes  in  the  village 
for  her  to  watch  develop.  The  old  Mill  cottages  had 
been  torn  down  and  across  the  river  had  been  built 
a  cluster  of  white  houses,  each  with  its  own  yard 
"going  right  around  it,"  and  trees  and  a  bit  of  garden. 
There  was  a  new  school  house,  too,  and  a  new  corps 
of  teachers,  and  a  hospital  and  a  library.  Robin 
and  her  aunt  had  opened  this  only  a  month  before. 

And  the  House  of  Laughter  had  been  enlarged  to 
meet  the  increasing  demands  upon  it;  there  were 
rooms  for  the  girls'  clubs  and  the  boys'  clubs,  and  a 
billiard  room  and  a  bowling  alley,  and  an  athletic 
field  with  a  basketball  court  and  a  baseball  diamond. 

(Sir  Galahad  in  his  scarlet  coat  still  hung  over 
the  mantel  which  Williams  had  built.  Robin  would 
not  let  anyone  change  that.) 

Mrs.  Riley  lived  in  the  upper  floor  of  the  House 
of  Laughter  and  took  care  of  it. 

The  Manor  car,  with  Madame  Forsyth,  passed 
often  now  through  the  streets  of  the  village  and  from 
it  Madame  nodded  pleasantly  to  this  person  and  that, 
stopping  sometimes  to  ask  one  Mill  mother  concern- 
ing her  sick  child,  another  of  her  husband — and  an- 
other whether  she  had  finished  the  knit  bed-spread 
upon  which  Madame  had  found  her  working  one 
afternoon  when  she  had  called.  Madame  had  herself 
regularly  visited  the  new  Mill  houses  during  the  pro- 
cess of  construction  and  took  delight  in  dropping  in, 


A  STORY  AFTER  THE  STORY   321 

upoit  the  newly  organized  school  while  classes  were 
in  session. 

"I'll  be  the  same  proud,  overbearing  old  lady," 
she  had  told  her  lawyer,  but  she  had  been  mistaken — 
she  could  never  be  quite  that  again,  for  she  had  found 
too  much  pure  delight  in  doing  the  little  things  Robin 
quite  artlessly  suggested — little  things  which  had  not 
been  easy  at  first  and  wrhich  had  seemed  to  demand 
too  great  a  sacrifice  of  her  pride. 

The  passing  of  time  for  the  three  at  the  Manor, 
Madame,  Mrs.  Budge  and  Harkness,  was  marked, 
Mother  Lynch  well  knew,  by  Robin's  coming  and 
going.  For,  when  her  Jimmie  had  returned  from 
southern  seas,  Robin  had  insisted  upon  going  straight 
to  him,  and  it  was  not  until  her  aunt  had  laid  aside 
the  last  shred  of  her  old  prejudice  and  invited  Robin's 
father  to  the  Manor  for  a  long  visit  that  Robin  had 
consented  to  look  upon  the  Manor  as  her  "home," 
though,  even  then,  she  steadfastly  asserted  "part"  of 
her  time  must  be  spent  with  Jimmie. 

While  at  the  Manor  James  Forsyth  had  painted 
his  "Wood  Sprite,"  which  won  for  him  quick  and 
wide  recognition,  and  ever  afterward  Robin  and 
Madame  Forsyth  referred  to  it  as  "our  picture." 

No,  Mother  Moira  was  never  lonesome. 

A  gay  voice  roused  her  now  from  her  happy 
reverie,  footsteps  rustled  the  grass,  cool  hands,  with 
a  touch  as  light  as  the  blowing  petals,  closed  over 
her  eyes. 

21 


322  RED-ROBIN 

"Dreaming  again,  little  Mom?  You're  incur- 
able .'"  And  Beryl,  with  a  laugh,  dropped  upon  the 
ground  close  to  the  hammock,  one  hand  closing  over 
her  mother's. 

"It's  a  bit  of  a  cat-nap  I'm  stealing,"  fibbed 
Mother  Moira,  blushing  like  a  girl.  Her  eyes  lin- 
gered adoringly  on  the  glowing,  flushed  face  close  to 
hers.  "Where  have  you  been,  Beryl?" 

"Susy  coaxed  me  off  to  her  fairy  spring.  It's 
really  a  lovely  little  nook  she's  found  and  she's  made 
a  doll's  house  in  the  hollow  of  an  old  tree.  She's  a 
funny  little  thing — almost  elfin,  isn't  she?  Are 
you  sure  she  isn't  too  much  trouble  for  you  and 
Dad,  Mother?" 

"Trouble?  Bless  the  little  heart  of  the  colleen, 
it's  something  happening  every  minute  for  it's  an 
imp  of  mischief  she  is,  but,  Beryl,  I  like  it.  It  keeps 
my  own  heart  young." 

"As  though  your  heart  would  ever  grow  old! 
You're  like  Robin.  Oh,  mother,  you  can't  know 
how  lonesome  I've  been  over  there  in  Milan  for  the 
sight  of  you  and  this  little  place.  I  think  my  soul, 
the  one  poor  dear  Jacques  Henri  tried  to  find  in  me 
and  didn't — wakened  one  night  when  I  actually  cried 
myself  to  sleep  just  longing  to  feel  your  arms  around 
me!  Oh,  when  one  has  a  mother  and  a  home  like 
mine  to  want  to  come  to,  it  ought  to  be  easy  to  keep 
beautiful  inside,  the  way  the  dear  man  said!"  And 
Beryl,  staring  thoughtfully  out  over  the  valley,  did 


A  STORY  AFTER  THE  STORY   323 

not  see  the  glow  that  transformed  her  mother's  face. 

A  shrill  whistle  from  the  Mills  echoed  and  re- 
echoed through  the  valley.  Beryl  turned  her  head 
suddenly  and  laid  her  cheek  against  the  palm  of  her 
mother's  hand. 

"Mother,  I  saw  a  lot  of  Tom  Granger  when  I 
was  in  Paris." 

Mother  Moira  started  ever  so  slightly,  with  the 
barest  twitching  of  the  hand  Beryl's  cheek  touched. 

"He  was  very  nice  to  me.  Mother,  are  he  and 
• — and  Robin — awfully  good  friends?" 

"What's  in  your  heart,  my  girl?" 

"Mom,  couldn't  Robin  marry  almost  anybody? 
She's  such  a  dear  and  she's  so  rich  and  she's  travelled 
around  so  much." 

"Why,  bless  the  heart  of  her,  she's  nothing  but 
a  child!" 

"Mother!"  Beryl's  voice  rang  impatiently. 
"We'll  just  never  grow  up  in  your  eyes!  Why, 
Robin's  twenty.  Well,  I  should  think  anyone'd 
like  Tom  Granger." 

"Oh,  my  dear!"  And  Mother  Moira,  reading 
the  girl's  heart  with  her  wise  mother-eyes,  gave 
a  tiny  sigh.  Must  the  shadow  of  a  heartache  touch 
the  splendid  friendship  between  these  two,  Beryl 
and  Robin? 

The  thought  lingered  with  her  while  she  watched 
the  girls  come  hand  in  hand  out  to  the  orchard  from 
the  drive  where  Robin  had  left  her  roadster.  Beryl 


324  RED-ROBIN 

had  only  been  home  for  three  days  and  Robin  came 
out  to  the  farm  at  every  opportunity. 

Her  girls — her  tall,  handsome  Beryl  with  the 
strong  shoulders  and  the  free  swing  of  her,  and  little 
Robin,  with  her  deep  blue  eyes  and  her  tender  lips 
and  her  alive  hair,  and  the  little  limp  that  gave  her 
walk  the  appearance  of  eagerness. 

There  was  still  so  much  to  talk  about  that  the 
two  girls  lingered  under  the  trees  while  Mother  Moira 
swung  gently  and  listened  and  watched  the  dear 
young  faces.  Beryl  had  been  the  guest  for  a  week- 
end at  a  duke's  house;  Robin  had  spent  a  month  in 
the  Canadian  Rockies  with  her  Jimmie;  Dale  had 
brought  home  all  sorts  of  tales  of  adventures  from 
an  expedition  he  had  made  with  an  engineering  gang 
into  the  fastnesses  of  South  America,  and  Beryl  had 
been  asked  to  tour  in  the  fall  with  the  Cincinnati  Sym- 
phony and  was  going  to  accept.  Their  chatter  came 
back  then  to  Wassumsic  and  the  new  hospital  and  the 
library  and  the  new  teachers,  who  were  Smith  College 
graduates,  and  Sophie  Mack  who  had  started  a  Girl 
Scout  troop,  and  the  new  athletic  field  at  the  House 
of  Laughter. 

"Bless  me,  it's  forgetting  the  supper  I  am,  and 
Dale  coming!"  cried  Mother  Moira,  springing  to 
quick  life. 

"And  Dale  has  a  wonderful  secret  to  tell,  too," 
laughed  Robin,  her  eyes  shining. 

Beryl  looked  at  her  friend  curiously — Robin  had 


A  STORY  AFTER  THE  STORY   325 

the  "all-tight-inside"  look  that  Beryl  remembered 
from  the  old  days  at  the  Manor. 

"Do  you  know  the  secret?"  she  asked. 

Robin's  face  flushed  rose-red.  "Y-yes.  But  I 
promised  Dale  I  wouldn't  tell.  We  both  want  to 
see  your  mother's  face — when  she  hears  it." 

"Well,  I  think  you're  mean  to  have  a  secret  with 
Dale  that  I  don't  know!"  cried  Beryl,  with  real 
indignation.  "Is  it  something  that's  going  to  make 
Mom  lots  happier?" 

"I — hope — so!"  And  to  hide  the  tell-tale  rose 
on  her  face  Robin  threw  her  arms  around  Mother 
Moira  and  kissed  her. 

"Faith,  is  it  any  happier  I  could  be  without  my 
heart  just  breaking?" 

Dale  came  and  they  all,  big  Danny  in  his  wheel 
chair,  ate  supper  on  the  broad  porch  where  they  could 
enjoy  the  sunset.  Beryl  watched  her  brother  with 
admiring  eyes — he  had  grown  so  strong  and  big 
and  good-looking,  his  nice-fitting  clothes  set  off 
his  broad  shoulders  so  well,  his  voice  had  such  a 
ring  of  confidence. 

"I've  been  offered  the  management  of  the  Forsyth 
Mills,"  he  announced  suddenly. 

Then  that  was  the  secret! 

"Really,  truly?"  exclaimed  Beryl. 

"And  will  ye  take  it,  my  boy?"  asked  big  Danny, 
a  note  of  pride  deepening  his  voice. 

"My  boy  a  manager!"  trilled  Mother  Moira. 


326  RED-ROBIN 

"Yes.  I'll  take  it.  I  made  one  condition  witH 
Madame  Forsyth — and  she  granted  it."  And  Dale 
flashed  a  look  across  to  Robin.  Everyone  followed 
his  glance  and  everyone  read  the  truth  in  Robin's  face. 

"Robin  Forsyth — and  you  never  breathed  a 
word!"  cried  Beryl,  not  knowing  for  the  moment 
whether  to  give  way  to  great  joy  or  indignation 
that  her  friend  had  not  confided  in  her. 

With  a  quick  little  motion,  Robin  had  slipped 
to  Mother  Lynch's  chair  and,  kneeling  beside  it,  she 
buried  her  face  against  the  woman's  heart. 

"I  didn't  know — myself,"  came  in  muffled  tones 
from  the  embrace. 

"Are  you  happy,  mother?"  asked  Dale,  boyishly. 

"Ah,  I  did  not  know  I  could  be  happier — but,  I 
am !"  And  Mother  Moira  smiled  through  the  tears 
that  brimmed  in  her  eyes. 

Beryl,  staring  at  her  mother  and  brother  and  her 
friend,  suddenly  gave  voice  to  a  thought  that  had 
come  with  such  significance  as  to  sweep  away  her 
girlish  reserve. 

"Then  it  isn't  Tom  Granger  at  all!  You  don't 
care  a  bit  about  him  ?" 

Robin's  face  lifted.  "About  Tom?  Oh,  good- 
ness me,  no.  Why,  he  isn't  worth  Dale's  little  finger 
— Beryl  Lynch,  why  do  you  ask  me  that?" 

"Ohr— nothing.  Really,  truly—"  And  Beryl 
escaped  into  the  house. 

******* 


A  STORY  AFTER  THE  STORY   327, 

Robin  drove  Dale  back  to  the  village.  At  theS 
turn  of  the  road  near  the  House  of  Laughter  she 
stopped  the  car  that  they  might  enjoy  for  a  moment 
the  twilight  glow  of  the  valley.  Lights  twinkled 
from  the  Mill  houses  across  the  river.  From  the 
House  of  Laughter  came  the  sound  of  singing.  A 
young  crescent  of  a  moon  shone  silvery  against  a 
purple  blue  sky. 

"Little  Red-Robin,"  cried  Dale,  suddenly,  "Are1 
you  very  sure  ?" 

"Sure — of  what?"  Robin  asked  in  a  voice  that; 
trembled  in  spite  of  her. 

"Someday  you  will  be  a  rich  girl.  I  am  a — > 
working-man.  What  will  the  world  say?  They 
may  laugh  at  you!" 

Robin's  chin  lifted.  Had  she  ever  reckoned  hei* 
gifts  in  dollars  and  cents? 

"But  you're  my  Prince !"  she  protested,  proudly.1 
"Don't  you  remember?  That  night,  a  long,  long 
time  ago,  when  you  took  me  home,  I  called  you— » 
my  Prince.  You  said,  then,  you  couldn't  stay  witH 
me — that  I'd  have  to  find  you.  Well,"  her  voice 
dropped  to  a  whisper,  "I  have." 


There  is  the  high,  happy  spirit  of  youth  in  these  famous 

BOOKS  FOR  GIRLS 

by  JANE  D.  ABBOTT 


BARBERRY  GATE 

A  boy  flyer  opened  the  Barberry  Gate,  closed  since  the  day  great-grand- 
father Coif  ax  locked  it,  and  Winsome  learned  the  romantic  story  behind  it  all. 

LAUGHING  LAST 

Sidney  finds  adventure  in  Provincetown — she  takes  part  in  the  capture  of 
modern  pirates,  and  much  to  her  surprise  plays  an  unexpected  part  in  her 
sister's  romance. 

APRILLY 

The  charming  story  of  a  young  girl,  child  of  the  circus,  and  the  adven- 
tures which  led  to  her  goal  of  happiness. 

HIGHACRES 

A  school  story  of  Jerry  Travis  and  her  chum  Gyp  Westley.  A  thread  of 
romance  and  mystery  in  Jerry's  life  runs  through  the  tale. 

KEINETH 

How  Keineth  Randolph  kept  a  secret — a  war  secret — for  a  whole  year 
makes  one  of  the  best  stories  ever  written  for  girls. 

RED  ROBIN 

In  attempting  to  bring  happiness  into  the  lives  of  mill  workers,  Robin 
Forsythe,  heir  to  a  fortune,  has  many  strange  adventures. 

HEYDAY 

Twenty-three!  The  heyday  of  life.  Jay,  a  small  town  girl,  finds  happiness 
in  New  York. 

LARKSPUR 

Especially  interesting  to  any  Girl  Scout  because  it  is  the  story  of  a  Girl 
Scout  who  is  poor  and  has  to  help  her  mother. 

HAPPY  HOUSE 

How  an  old  family  quarrel  is  healed  through  a  misunderstanding  and  an 
old  homestead  becomes  a  "happy  house"  in  reality. 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP  Publishers  NEW  YORK 


The  Judy  Bolton  Mystery  Stories 

By  MARGARET  SUTTON 


Judy's  adventures,  every  one  of  them,  have  been  based  on 
something  that  actually  happened.  The  flood,  the  house  with 
the  round  attic  windows,  the  hiding  place  of  the  invisible 
chimes,  the  school  fire,  the  camp  in  the  Thousand  Islands, 
the  queer  old  house  in  Parkville  and  the  panic  in  the  theatre 
— all  of  them  are  real! 

You  will  not  want  to  miss  one  of  these  thrilling  stories. 

THE  VANISHING  SHADOW— Judy  is  constantly  pursued  by  a  mys- 
terious shadow.  Her  brother,  a  timid  but  lovable  boy,  turns  out  to  be 
a  real  hero  in  this  dramatic,  fast  moving  story. 

THE  HAUNTED  ATTIC — The  Boltons  move  into  a  large  rambling 
house  reputed  to  be  haunted.  Even  brave  Judy  is  frightened  at  the 
strange  rappings  and  the  eerie  "crying  ghost". 

THE  INVISIBLE  CHIMES— A  strange  girl  is  sheltered  by  the  Bol- 
tons and  Judy  tracks  down  many  clues  before  she  uncovers  her  real 
identity. 

SEVEN  STRANGE  CLUES — Judy  works  out  seven  baffling  clues  to 
solve  the  mystery  of  a  school  fire  and  a  prize  poster  contest. 

THE  GHOST  PARADE — Weird  happenings  at  Thousand  Island 
Camp  provide  mystery,  humor  and  adventure  in  this  thrilling  story. 

THE  YELLOW  PHANTOM— With  her  quick  thinking  and  courage, 
Judy  rescues  a  lost  friend  and  solves  the  mystery  of  "Golden  Girl." 

THE  MYSTIC  BALL — Irene,  "the  engaged  girl,"  is  frightened  by  a 
crystal  gazer  but  Judy  exposes  the  trickery  and  saves  her  friend's 
romance. 

THE  VOICE  IN  THE  SUITCASE— A  weird  cry  leads  Judy  into  ex- 
citement and  danger  in  a  lonely  old  house. 

TOE  MYSTERIOUS  HALF  CAT — Judy  and  her  friends  become  sus- 
picious of  a  mysterious  old  beggar  and  follow  him. 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP          Publishers          NEW  YORK 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

Los  Angeles 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


LUi 

NOV  21 

T«MP:  Two  Weeks  From  D^u  of  R 


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